


my love for you will still be strong

by gilligankane



Series: you can tell everybody this is your song [16]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 80's Music, F/F, Gen, Mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: “Anyway,” Nathan says, leaning out of his seat. He grabs the door and pulls it shut. “If you want my lawn mowing business, it’s yours,” he says to Nicole. “You can even have the trailer I made. It’ll hook on the back of your bicycle, right around the seat base.”Nicole is about to say ‘no,’ that she doesn't want his discarded lawn business. She looks at Waverly, though, and Waverly is still staring at Nathan’s car, her eyes wistful.“Sure,” she hears herself saying. “I’ll take it over.”





	my love for you will still be strong

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Nicole Haught’s (canon) birthday, we present today’s Flashback Friday, featuring: Haught Cutz Lawn Service, neon lights, and a Crush - an Orange Crush, I mean.
> 
> This takes place in the summer of 1987. Nicole is 16 and Waverly is 14, going on 15.

**“Boys of Summer” Don Henley, 1984  
** _I can see you, your bronze skin shinin’ in the sun. You got your hair slicked back and those Wayfarers on, baby. I can tell you, my love for you will still be strong, after the boys of summer have gone_.

Nicole looks up from the page she’s scribbling on, eyes narrowed. There’s a car coming up the driveway. She checks the clock on the wall, but her mom still has another few hours of work before she comes home, and Nathan is supposed to be at football practice until sundown - ever since he told Coach Ewan he’d help out with the team now that’s graduated, he’s been as obsessed with football as he was with Vanity, years ago.

She pauses with her pen on the page, torn between going to see who's there, and finishing her outline of the perfect summer mixtape.

The car backfires and Nicole drops her pen, pushing back her chair and heading for the back door. She presses up against the screen door, squinting into the afternoon sun.

“Come here!” Nathan yells, hanging out of the driver’s window of a white 1975 Cadillac Eldorado. He slips back behind the wheel, throwing the car into park. The brakes squeal a little and Nicole winces.

Nathan gets out of the car, slamming the driver’s door. The hinges groan with rust, but Nathan looks at Nicole, smiling widely. “Look at her!”

“Her?” Nicole asks, rounding the front of the car. She looks at it headlong and winces. “What is it?”

“A ‘75 Cadillac Eldorado,” Nathan says proudly. “But more importantly, it’s _mine_.”

“It _is_?” Nicole asks. “Why?”

Nathan’s shoulders sag minutely. “I bought her.”

“You keep saying _her_ , like you’ve named her-”

“Lucille,” Nathan says loudly. His chest puffs out. “I named her Lucille.”

Nicole stares at him, her mouth hanging open for a minute. “ _Why_?” she finally manages to asks. She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Nathan rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. What _matters_ is that this beautiful piece of machinery is _mine,_ and I can stop riding that stupid Patterson.”

Nicole looks over her shoulder at Nathan’s ‘84 Patterson PR-200 and her black and silver Bridgestone 40 sitting side-by-side near the back stairs.

“All of those hours mowing lawns, shoveling snow for the whole neighborhood, _working_ part time at the drugstore and sweeping? It _finally_ paid off,” Nathan continues. “Now I have Lucille, and I don’t have to do any of those things anymore.”

“You bought that with all that money?” Nicole asks skeptically. “Did you have enough?”

Nathan deflates a little. “Well, no,” he admits. “But mom came down on her lunch break and cosigned the loan.”

Nicole narrows her eyes at him. “What’s your audio system look like?”

Nathan grins and grabs for the driver’s door again, pulling it open. Nicole winces as it squeaks, but Nathan ushers her forward. “Look for yourself.”

She looks down through the window but Nathan nudges her closer.

“Go ahead, sit down.”

Nicole starts to shake her head. The seats look like they haven’t been cleaned in a decade and there’s a large hole in the passenger seat. The dashboard is caked in dust.

“You bought this from a _dealer_ ?” she asks. “ _This_ hunk of junk?”

Nathan shoves at her shoulder, but nods excitedly. “She was tucked away in the corner. I almost didn’t notice her.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Nicole mutters to herself.

“Sit, sit,” Nathan encourages.

Nicole sighs, slipping behind the wheel. She inhales sharply; the driver’s seat is sun-warm and the leather is comfortable underneath her. She slowly rests her hands on the wheel, letting her fingers mold over the shape. The front end of the car stretches out in front of her, an endless sea of white. She feels her heart start to race. It feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest and through her white and black Loverboy Get Lucky concert shirt.

“Right?” Nathan asks breathlessly.

She nearly jumps at the sound of his voice in her ear.

“She rides like a dream,” Nathan says, his voice still full of awe. “Engine needs a little work, but I already took her down to Bustillos, and he said he’d have his best guy look at it.”

“Doc is their best guy,” Nicole says absently. She runs her finger along the dashboard and to the audio system. It’s a standard tape deck with a radio feature. She looks up suddenly. “Let me make you your first mixtape.”

Nathan laughs. “What?”

Nicole turns a little in the seat, catching her knee on the steering wheel. “I’m serious. Let me make you the first mixtape for this. I’m working on making the perfect mix.”

“The perfect-”

“You _know_ ,” she says, a little frustration bubbling in her chest. It’s not at Nathan; she’s been staring at the same playlist for the last few days, trying to order the songs she picked out into a perfect combination. “One that _fits_ the person, the situation. One that gets to the root of _everything_.”

Nathan looks at her for a moment, eyes searching her face. “You know,” he says slowly, almost as if he’s picking his words carefully. “Sometimes, you can make a mixtape that’s _fun_.”

Nicole scowls. “Curtis never-”

“Curtis was a genius,” Nathan interrupts. “That’s what you’ve always said. But, listen.” He takes a deep breath. “Not every mixtape needs a sad song, you know? Sometimes, you put a song in the set because you like the way it sounds, but it doesn’t always have to _mean_ anything.”

Nicole glares at him. “Then why put it on a tape if it doesn’t mean anything?”

Nathan sighs, dropping his head. He shakes it slowly before looking up, a small smile on his face. “Okay, kid. If you say so.” He points eagerly back at his car. “Isn’t she pretty?”

Nicole scowls at him for another moment. _He doesn’t get it_ , she thinks to herself. _But what can I expect from a guy who likes Weird Al_? Eventually, she sighs and nods.

“ _I know_ ,” Nathan says. He grins. “So Bustillos is going to handle what’s under the hood, but I’ll handle the top of it. I’m going to take her to Main Street and get a few things at the hardware store. You know, some wax, some leather cleaner. You want to take a ride with me?”

Nicole chews her bottom lip, getting out of the car. “What time is it?”

Nathan checks his MIDO Multifort Luxe 7326, the watch her dad left him years ago. “Almost three. Why?”

Nicole shakes her head. “Waverly is coming over soon so we can watch _Video Hits_. She taped it last night.”

“Well, can’t you-”

Waverly comes up the driveway, skidding to a stop on her 1981 Schwinn Stingray in front of Nicole. Her side ponytail flutters behind her, settling around her face. She pushes it out of her eyes, smoothing down the crimped waves with one hand while she grips a VHS box with the other. The afternoon sunlight glints off of the handlebars of her bicycle, catching Nicole in the eyes.

“Hey,” she pants softly. “Whose wheels?”

“Mine,” Nathan says proudly, his chest puffing out again. “You like it?”

Waverly squints at it. “It needs a wash.”

Nathan rolls his eyes. “You girls are so damn critical.”

Waverly shrugs one shoulder at him and looks at Nicole. “Hey.”

It takes Nicole a second for the word to process. She can’t hear Waverly over the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She looks at Waverly’s sneakers, a pair of new rainbow KangaROOS, up her legs to the hem of her frayed denim shorts, over the belt buckle right beneath her belly button. She’s wearing a yellow and green striped shirt that she tied into a knot behind her back, matching yellow and green scrunchies in her hair.

“Tonight She Comes” by The Cars starts playing.

“ _ She channels me up. She does it with ease and sometimes she passes through me, just like a breeze. She gives me a reason, for feeling alright _ ,” Ric Ocasek sings.

“What?” she asks, startled.

Nathan looks up from the driver’s seat. His car is running, the radio coming through clear. “What?”

Waverly tips her head to one side and smiles crookedly at Nicole. “You okay?”

Nicole swallows, her throat dry. “Yeah,” she manages. “Nathan got a car.”

“I know,” Waverly says kindly. “We’re standing in front of it.”

“Right,” Nicole says softly. She rubs at the back of her neck for a minute, one nail scratching against the soft skin around her thumb for a second.

“It’s _grody_ ,” Waverly continues, looking at the car. She gets off her bike, lowering it to the ground. She absently hands Nicole the VHS box. Nicole takes it without thinking, cradling it under one arm. Waverly kicks one of the tires. “But it’s a _car_ ,” she finishes, her eyes bright.

“You _like_ it?” Nicole asks, her voice harsher than she wants it to be.

Waverly shrugs. “It’s not, like, a _Bonneville_ ,” she says. “But it’s a car.” She turns suddenly, grabbing at Nicole’s arms. The VHS box falls out of Nicole’s grip, the soft plastic padding thudding against the driveway. Nicole doesn’t hear it or feel it drop; Waverly’s fingers curl around her bare arms and tug her a few steps across the pavement. “Imagine all the places we could go with a _car_ ,” she breathes out. “We could go to the city whenever we wanted. We wouldn’t have to ride our bikes to school, and my hair would be _perfect_ every day.” She starts to bounce on the tips of her toes. “ _Oh_ , we could drive down Rt. 81 as far as it goes. Gus _never_ lets us do that,” she says grumpily.

“Anyway,” Nathan says, leaning out of his seat. He grabs the door and pulls it shut. “If you want my lawn mowing business, it’s yours,” he says to Nicole. “You can even have the trailer I made. It’ll hook on the back of your bicycle, right around the seat base.”

Nicole is about to say ‘ _no_ ,’ that she doesn't want his discarded lawn business. She looks at Waverly, though, and Waverly is still staring at Nathan’s car, her eyes wistful.

“Sure,” she hears herself saying. “I’ll take it over.”

Nathan nods, smiling. “Perfect. You know what lawns I do, right?”

Nicole chews on her bottom lip as she tries to think. “The Jordan’s, the La Pierre’s…”

“Everyone on the street except for the Hadley’s,” Nathan finishes. “And I’ve got a few houses over near Homestead.”

Nicole tries to count that up in her head. “That’s…”

“15 houses,” Nathan says proudly. “Takes two whole days to do them all, but each lawn is $20.”

Nicole’s mouth drops open. “That’s $300 a week,” she says slowly.

Nathan’s grin widens. “I know.”

Waverly’s fingernails dig into her arm where she’s still resting her hand. “If you mowed lawns _all_ summer, that would be…” she taps Nicole’s arm as she adds numbers in her head. “Over $2000,” she says slowly.

“Minus gasoline for your mower,” Nathan adds. “You have to think about expenses.”

Nicole’s eyes widen a little. “This sounds like more work than I want to do,” she admits. “It’s _summer_ . I’m supposed to do _nothing_ .” She looks at Waverly quickly. “Well, except for hang out at The Patch and pick on Bobo for listening to the Bee Gees.” She scoffs. “That man has _no_ taste.” She shakes her head. “But, anyway. That seems like a lot of work and not a lot of hanging out.”

Waverly’s shoulders drop and her bottom lip pushes out slightly. She looks up at Nicole through her eyelashes. “You can still hang out at The Patch. But now when I’m not working, we have something to _do_.”

“Oh, you’re going to help me?” Nicole asks skeptically.

“Well, no,” Waverly admits. “But I’ll come with you. This is the year I perfect my tan,” she says firmly. “And I need to be outside to do it.”

“So, I’ll mow lawns and you’ll…”

“Tan,” Waverly finishes. She smiles brightly, leaning in. Her shoulder brushes against Nicole’s arm.

Nicole feels her stomach flop uncomfortably. “Okay,” she says softly. She clears her throat. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Waverly claps excitedly and grabs for Nicole’s arm again. “ _Aces_ ,” she breathes out.

Nathan grins crookedly, hanging one arm out of his window. He lifts it, fist clenched. Reluctantly, Nicole lifts her own fist, bumping his. “That trailer is behind the trash cans,” he says, nodding towards the bins by the back door. “You can head down to the Jordan’s and let them know you’re taking over for me. They like it short, but just ask them if they want you to go close around the flowers or leave the grass a little higher.” He revs the engine of his Eldorado.

Nicole steps back, her hand curling around Waverly’s elbow as she tugs her to the edge of the driveway.  Nathan backs down the driveway and honks his horn a few times before he hits the gas. A cloud of black smoke comes out of his exhaust pipe, trailing behind him as he coasts down the street.

Nicole sighs and heads back up the driveway, pulling Waverly behind her, and stopping by the garbage cans. The trailer is something Nathan put together a few summers ago: some old boards and a pair of wheels with a border made of poorly cut 2x4s he picked out of the scrap pile at the hardware store. It holds a lawnmower, though, and that’s enough.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Nicole asks, her voice low.

Waverly turns, looking up from the handmade trailer. “What?”

Nicole shakes her head. “Nothing.” She picks up the rope at the end of the trailer, giving it a soft, experimental tug. “Help me drag this to my bicycle.”

Waverly takes the rope, her hand brushing against Nicole’s as she does. Together, they pull the trailer a few feet, hooking the rope around the post of Nicole’s bicycle seat. Nicole goes back around the house and gets the 1979 Snapper mower. She puts it on its back wheels, dragging it behind her all the way to the trailer. There’s no ramp for the mower to push up, so she squats down and grabs the Snapper around the base, careful not to touch the blade.

“I read that you should lift with your legs and not with your back,” Waverly says.

Nicole grunts, lowering the mower onto the trailer. She straightens up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “What?”

“You’re supposed to lift with your legs,” Waverly repeats. “Like…” She steps closer. “Like, here,” she says, pressing her hand to the back of Nicole’s thigh, just above her knee. “Instead of here,” she continues, moving her hand off of Nicole’s leg and placing it on the small of Nicole’s back. “You could pull a muscle.”

Nicole swallows heavily, Waverly’s hand burning through her shirt. She can feel each fingernail lightly scratching through the cotton. She shivers, goosebumps rippling across her skin, even in the hot afternoon sun. She steps away, ducking her head to hide the heat burning across her cheeks. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Nicole mounts her silver and black Bridgestone 40, pushing one pedal forward to test the weight of the trailer and Snapper. It’ll take a good solid push to get her bike going, but once she’s moving, she’s sure it won’t be a problem. She walks her bicycle forward a few feet, pausing and looking expectantly at Waverly. “Well? Are you coming?”

Waverly jumps a little. “What? Oh, _totally_.” She skips across the driveway, picking up the VHS box Nicole had dropped. She waves it in Nicole’s direction and takes the back stairs in two steps, the screen door banging behind her as she heads into the kitchen. She comes back outside a few seconds later, the VHS box gone. Nicole moves her bicycle further down the driveway, waiting near Waverly’s Stingray. “Ready,” Waverly sings, throwing a leg over the frame.

Nicole leans forward on her handlebars. Her Bridgestone is really a racing bicycle, but nothing at Jo’s Bicycle World fit her; the extra inches she put on over the winter made her too tall to ride her old Foiler. She found a 1986 Hutch Trick Star that she wanted, with hot pink pedals that reminded her of the neon lights at Shorty’s, but her knees nearly knocked her in the chin as she pedaled, and so she left the lot on her Bridgestone 40. She had tied a basket to the front as soon as she got home, dropping her Hitachi and a few tapes in.

Waverly pulls up next to her, leaning over her handlebars to look into the basket. “You have _Reckless_?” she asks.

Nicole shrugs. “I guess.”

Waverly looks up from the cassette case. “You don’t even like Bryan Adams,” she accuses. She slips the tape from the case and puts it into the Hitachi. “One Night Love Affair” starts and Waverly smiles.

_But I like your smile_ , Nicole thinks. She frowns, shaking her head.

Waverly starts pedaling down the driveway. “You're the silent type, and you caught my eye,” she sings over her shoulder.

Nicole pushes off, legs straining as she wills the trailer and mower to move. It inches forward after a few good pushes and then she’s cruising down the driveway and taking an unsteady turn onto the street. Waverly is looping circles around her, singing Bryan Adams as they go a couple hundred feet down to the end of the road. She turns into the Jordan’s driveway and comes to an unsteady stop near their steps. She turns down her music, but leaves the tape running. Waverly hangs back a little, sitting on her bicycle.

“Hello?” Nicole asks, knocking on the screen.

Mrs. Jordan pushes open the screen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Nicole. Hi. What can I do for you?”

Nicole hooks her thumb over her shoulder, at the lawnmower waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “Nathan isn’t going to be doing lawns this summer, but he gave me his tools and I was wondering if you needed your lawn cut.”

Mrs. Jordan pauses for a second. “By you?”

Nicole nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Jordan says. She looks back into the house for a moment before turning her attention to Nicole. “No, honey. I’m afraid we don’t need it cut today.”

Nicole pauses for a second before she shrugs. “I can come tomorrow, then.”

“Not tomorrow, either,” Mrs. Jordan says quickly. “Honestly,” she starts, laughing a little. “I’m not sure if we’ll need it cut this summer at all. With the way they’re predicting the drought season, it might not even grow. Now,” she says, her voice a little louder as Nicole starts to open her mouth. “I have a pie in the oven that I really must get back to, but thank you for stopping by, honey.”

The door swings shut before Nicole can get a goodbye out. She moves slowly down the steps, walking her bicycle to Waverly’s.

“So?”

Nicole shrugs. “She said she doesn’t need her lawn cut this summer.”

Waverly frowns. “Well, let’s try the La Pierre’s,” she suggests.

Nicole gets back on her bicycle slowly, walking it for a few feet before she pushes off and coasts into the street. The La Pierre’s live a little further down the street and it’s an easy ride. This time, she leaves her bicycle on the curb and walks up the driveway, hesitating at the door.

She looks back over her shoulder.

Waverly gives her a thumbs up and wide smile.

Nicole takes a deep breath and knocks.

Mr. La Pierre opens the door, peering down at Nicole through the screen. “What?”

Nicole puts on her best smile, going for the one she sees Waverly use at The Patch. “Hi, Mr. La Pierre. I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught. I’m Nathan’s-”

“I know who you are.” He looks over her shoulder, at Waverly. “Is that the little Earp?”

“Yes, sir,” Nicole slowly. She clears her throat. “Anyway, sir. I was just coming by to let you know that Nathan isn’t going to be mowing lawns this summer and-”

“He’s not,” Mr. La Pierre asks, his mouth turning down into a frown. “Why not?”

Nicole hesitates. “Well, sir, he got a car and he’s going to be putting in some hours at another job,” she says. “Like I was saying, he turned his lawns over to me, so I was just coming up to introduce myself and ask if there’s anything I should stay away from on your lawn, or if you want it all cut.”

Mr. La Pierre’s eyes narrow. “ _You’re_ cutting the lawn?”

“Yes, sir?”

He shakes his head. “Not my lawn.”

Nicole pauses, tipping her head to the side. “What?”

Mr. La Pierre pushes the screen door open, sending Nicole back a step. He steps out onto his porch, his large frame towering over her. She straightens her shoulders, trying to stretch herself out.

“I don’t need my lawn cut by you,” he says firmly, his voice booming. “Can you even lift that mower?”

Nicole can hear Waverly gasp behind her.

“I can, sir,” she says calmly.

“But you’re a girl,” he continues.

Waverly gasps again.

“I understand that, sir. But I’m real strong and my brother wouldn’t have given me his business if he didn’t think I could do it,” Nicole explains.

Mr. La Pierre shakes his head, crossing his large arms over his chest. “Girls don’t belong outside mowing lawns.”

Nicole inhales sharply. “I can do anything a boy can do.”

Mr. La Pierre snorts. “No you can’t, girlie. Now, if you’ve got another brother looking to do some real man’s work, you send him my way. Otherwise, I’ll put in a call to Todd York and see if one of his boys can.”

Waverly’s bike crashes to the ground.

Nicole looks back over her shoulder and sighs.

“If you think,” Waverly says from behind her, her sneakers slapping against the pavement. “That Nicole can’t mow the lawn because she’s a _girl_ , then you-”

Nicole hurries back down the steps, cutting Waverly off. She grabs her around the middle and lifts her off the ground, her arms straining to fight Waverly’s forward momentum.

“If you- _Hey_ , put me down, right now,” she demands. She jabs a finger in Mr. La Pierre’s direction. “If you think that- _Hey_!”

Nicole bear hugs her, pushing her back into her bicycle. “Let’s _go_ ,” she hisses. She gets on her own bicycle, pushing off. She slams her finger down on the pause button, Bryan Adams’s voice warping into a high-pitched note that would normally make Nicole wince. She pedals hard, pulling into her own driveway with a screeching stop. She leaves the trailer and mower attached to her bicycle, letting the screen door slam behind her as she stomps into the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of Orange Crush, twisting off the top and taking a long swallow.

The screen door creaks as it opens slowly. Waverly slips inside the kitchen, toeing the linoleum lightly as she stands there. “Nicole,” she says softly.

Nicole shakes her head firmly.

“Do you want to-”

“No,” Nicole says quickly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Waverly nods slowly. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Do you want to watch _Video Hits_ instead?”

Nicole shrugs, moving through the kitchen and into the living room. She sits down on the couch, picking at a loose thread of fabric. Waverly opens the VHS case and slides the tape into the VHS player. It takes her a minute to put the TV on channel 3 and to start the show, but then she’s sitting down next to Nicole.

“I think you’re strong enough to lift _anything_ ,” Waverly says quietly. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Nicole scoffs, eyes on the coffee table where she’s resting her feet. “I can’t lift the case of tomato cans in the kitchen. _Bobo_ can.”

Waverly waves a hand dismissively. “That’s, like, over 100 pounds.”

“Well I can’t lift it,” Nicole argues.

Waverly sighs and slides a little closer, elbowing Nicole gently.

Nicole looks up, scowling.

Waverly elbows her again, a smile on her face. “Don’t be a Grumpy Gus.”

Nicole glares at Waverly for a moment before she sighs and rolls her eyes. “That’s not even funny.”

“But you laughed,” Waverly argues. She leans into Nicole’s side, her head dipping down to rest on Nicole’s shoulder.

“No, I didn’t,” Nicole argues back.

Waverly shushes her. “Yes, you did. Now, watch the show and then we’ll go to The Patch for milkshakes, okay?”

Nicole pauses. “With extra whip cream?”

Waverly pats her thigh gently, her eyes on the TV screen. “With extra whip cream,” she promises.

 

-

“ _B-B-B-baby, baby, baby, why you wan' treat me this way? You know I'm still your lover boy, I still feel the same way,_ ” Dan Baird sings.

Nicole wonders sometimes why they let Waverly have control of the tape deck. She’s about to sit up, open her mouth and argue, when she remembers the pout Waverly put on the first time Nicole tried to take back some power. Instead, Nicole listens to The Georgia Satellites and hopes the song is over soon.

A finger pokes her in the side of the head. “Hey.”

Nicole ignores it.

The finger pokes again. “Hey.”

Nicole opens one eye, wincing as the sun hits her in the face.

The finger pokes her a third time and Nicole growls, turning over and blindly swinging her arm. She feels it connect with sun-warm skin, and Wynonna hisses.

“Dude, what the-”

“ _Language_ ,” Waverly sings from Nicole’s other side.

Nicole looks up at Wynonna just in time to see her scowl. “I didn’t even say anything,” Wynonna argues.

Waverly pulls her Ray Ban Wayfarers down enough to look over the rim of them. “You were gonna.”

“ _You were gonna_ ,” Wynonna mocks. She looks back at Nicole before Waverly can yell at her a second time. “Are you going to be a total Joanie the whole summer?”

“Yes,” Nicole says grumpily, closing her eyes again. “I am.”

“Neato,” Wynonna says, her voice flat. “Just checking.”

There’s the sound of skin hitting skin and Nicole opens her eyes to see Wynonna rubbing at her arm, glaring at Waverly. She looks at Waverly, but Waverly smiles sweetly at Nicole and slides her sunglasses on, leaning her head back against the lawn chair she fished out of the shed, wedged between a stack of old coolers and Curtis’s truck.

“I think it’s fine to be upset,” Waverly says without looking at her. “Mr. La Pierre was a dickweed.”

“ _Language_ ,” Wynonna gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like a scandalized June Cleaver.

Waverly sits up, pushing her sunglasses up and into her hair. Nicole follows them, her eyes getting caught up in the way the strands of Waverly’s hair catch the sunlight and seem to sparkle. She shakes her head and pushes up onto her elbows, wincing when the sun hits her right in the eyes.

“He _is_ ,” Waverly insists. “He’s a _dickweed,_ and he’s _wrong_. Nicole can cut the lawn just as good as Nathan can.”

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “Okay, we get it. You’re standing on the lawn holding a giant ‘Go Nicole!’ sign. So Mr. La Pierre is a dickweed. So what? The rest of the people on your street aren’t like that.”

Nicole sighs, pushing until she’s sitting up. Her skin feels too hot after laying in the sun for the last twenty minutes. “Mrs. Jordan? She told me they weren’t mowing their lawn this summer? Either they just didn’t want to do it, or they want it to look like something out of a safari.”

“Or ‘The Veldt’,” Waverly says.

Nicole blinks at her.

“What?” Wynonna asks.

“It’s a short story by Ray Bradbury,” Waverly explains.

Wynonna holds up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Do I have to read it?”

Waverly’s mouth hangs open a little for a moment. “Yes,” she finally says.

Wynonna is shaking her head before Waverly even finishes the word. “No can do, kid. Reading is for suckers.”

Waverly scowls. “Just because you can’t-”

Nicole leans across Wynonna, slapping at her Hitachi sitting between Waverly and Wynonna. Dan Baird cuts out in the middle of a long vowel, flashing abruptly into silence. She glares at Waverly for a second until Waverly’s eyes soften and she looks down.

Wynonna waves her hand dismissively. “Whatever,” she says, her voice gruff.

Nicole shrugs. “Listen. It’s not like I wanted to mow the lawns,” she says, lying just a little.

She’s lying because she _wanted_ to mow the lawns, especially after Mr. La Pierre told her she couldn’t. She wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted to prove her dad wrong.

_“You’re just a girl_ ,” he had told her when she wanted to go camping with him and Nathan. “ _You should stay here with your mom_.”

“ _You’re just a girl_ ,” he had told her when she asked if she could go to the Boston concert with him. “ _I’m taking Nathan. Maybe your mom can show you how to crochet.”_

_“You’re just a girl_ ,” he had told her when she told him she was ready to go fishing. _“But I’ll drop you off at The Patch. You’d like that better_.”

She can’t say she didn’t like the idea of making money, either. Or the idea of spending the summer on her bicycle, Waverly at her side, the sun in her hair. She liked the idea of mowing the lawn and Waverly sitting on the curb listening to all of the songs Nicole hates while the mower is running too loud for Nicole to hear. She liked the idea of Waverly carrying a small cooler on the front of her bicycle and handing Nicole a cold can of Orange Crush as she admires her handiwork.

But Mrs. Jordan and Mr. La Pierre were just the start of it. The Ryans and Delocattas suddenly didn’t want their lawns mowed this summer, either. No one else told her the truth - that she was just a girl who couldn’t do the job - but she could read between the lines in their fidgeting hands and the way no one looked her quite in the eyes.

Waverly’s hand is cool against her thigh. “It’s okay if you did.”

Nicole huffs, throwing a hand up into the air. “It’s not like I can do anything about it anyway.”

Waverly’s hand flexes against her leg. “What if there is?”

Nicole snorts. “Like what?”

“Yeah, like what?” Wynonna echoes.

Nicole startles a little, forgetting for a moment that Wynonna is between them, her shirt tied into a knot above her belly button and her hair loose. Some of it brushes against Nicole’s bare shoulder where she’s rolled up her shirt.

Waverly frowns a little, her eyes drifting over Nicole’s shoulder. “We need to _make_ them want you to do their lawn for you.”

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t know how.”

“Can you move this?” Wynonna grumbles, pushing at Waverly’s arm, stretched across her body and resting on Nicole’s leg.

Nicole flushes.

“I feel like I’m seatbelted in,” Wynonna continues.

Waverly’s hand slides off her thigh, her fingernails leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Nicole pulls her legs in, resting her chin on her knees. “They won’t let me mow their lawns, so how will they see that I’m just as good as Nathan?”

Waverly chews on her bottom lip as she thinks. She looks the same at The Patch, on a day when Bobo gets to create the specials and he picks things like Roasted Beef Dip salad with a side of pickles, and Waverly can’t quite remember what it is. “You have to show them,” she says finally.

Nicole groans. “But _how_?”

“You mow a lawn,” Waverly says.

Nicole lets her legs stretch out again and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Waverly, I feel like you’re missing the point here.”

Wynonna nods. “Even I get the point.” She leans towards Nicole, dropping her voice to a whisper. “What’s the point?”

Waverly waves a hand at them. “No, listen. You mow a lawn. You mow… You mow _this_ lawn.” She smacks her hand down on the grass beneath her chair. “You mow Gus’s lawn, and then we can take pictures and show it to people who don’t think you can do it.” She grins widely. “Isn’t that perfect?”

Nicole shakes her head. “No. It seems impossible. Why is Gus going to let me mow her lawn for her when she already does it herself?”

Waverly’s eyes sparkle as her grin curls up at the corners. “We convince her.”

Nicole and Wynonna both groan.

 

-

Nicole nervously pulls at the collared shirt she’s wearing. She’s sweating, the afternoon humidity seeping in through the cotton fabric of the shirt she stole from Nathan’s closet.

“I still don’t know why I had to wear a tie,” Nicole grumbles.

Waverly pats her on the arm gently. “It’s _professional_.”

Nicole shifts her weight from foot to foot, listening to her sneakers squeak. “I’m making a presentation, not going to picture day.”

Waverly laughs a little. “You wouldn’t wear a tie to picture day.”

Nicole folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed. “Why not? Nathan does.”

Waverly tips her head to the side, looking Nicole up and down like she’s considering the possibility. She frowns as she looks back at Nicole’s shirt. “You have…” she says.

Nicole looks down, unfolding her arms. “What?”

Waverly points at her. “It’s right…”

Nicole picks at the bottom of her shirt, trying to hold it out to see. “What?”

“It’s…” Waverly sighs. “Come here.” She snags the bottom of Nicole’s tie, winding it around her hand once before tugging Nicole forward.

Nicole trips as Waverly pulls, For a second, Nicole isn’t sure she’s going to stop, but then Waverly’s hands are at her waist, holding her steady.

“Woah,” Nicole breathes out, her nose bumping Waverly’s.

Waverly looks up through her eyelashes, her mouth parting. “I-”

“What the hell are you two doing standing on the porch like you’re trying to sell me bibles?” Gus asks from behind the screen door.

Nicole stumbles backward, her heel slipping off the porch, almost sending her down the stairs. Waverly’s hand is still caught in her tie and it pulls, choking Nicole for a second while she catches her balance.

“Gus,” Waverly breathes out, letting go of Nicole’s tie.

Gus pushes open the screen door. “Well, I’m not the Pope.”

Nicole straightens out the tie and her shirt, retucking it into her jeans. She keeps her eyes down, pinned to her shoes, until she notices it’s quiet. She looks up. Gus and Waverly are both staring at her. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

Gus tips her head to the side. “The two of you going to a wedding?”

Nicole looks at Waverly, in a hot pink shirt and a denim skirt, and then looks down again. She hadn’t noticed before, but Waverly had picked the collared shirt with small pink and blue squares from the depths of Nathan’s closet. She’s only realizing now that they match.  “No, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Gus asks, arching an eyebrow slowly.

“No, Gus,” Nicole corrects. She sees Waverly looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Nicole straightens up a little and clears her throat. “Hello,” she starts, trying to remember her script.

Gus pushes further out the door, stepping onto the porch completely. “Hello,” she echoes.

Nicole falters for a second. She hadn’t planned on Gus talking back. She looks helplessly at Waverly for a second, but Waverly rolls her eyes and motions at her to keep going. Nicole takes a deep breath, starting again.

“Hello. I’m here today to-”

Wynonna’s face presses against the screen. “ _What_ are you wearing?” She pushes the door, slipping out onto the porch and leaning back against the house. She looks Nicole up and down, a smile growing on her face. “You look like a _hoser_.”

Nicole tucks her hands into her pockets self-consciously.

“You didn’t want to be part of the plan,” Waverly says cooly. “So you don’t get to judge how we execute it.”

There’s a soft blush across Wynonna’s cheeks when Nicole looks back at her. Wynonna had wanted to be a part of the plan, but Doc had ridden by on the orange and black 1974 Hercules W-2000 he was test-riding, revved the engine a few times, and Wynonna had left in the middle of Waverly deciding what they would all wear.

Wynonna puts her hands up in surrender. “Finish your speech, then. Be my guest.”

Gus looks at her expectantly. “The floor is yours, girl.”

“Right,” Nicole says, clearing her throat. “Hello,” she says for a third time. “I’m here today to offer to mow your lawn.”

“Yeah, I bet you want to _mow_ her lawn,” Wynonna mutters just loud enough for Nicole to hear.

Nicole can feel the tips of her ears burning red. “As you may know, I am a very dedicated person. I work hard. I am committed to- _Wynonna_ ,” she growls.

Gus snaps her fingers and Wynonna stops laughing instantly. “Let Nicole finish,” Gus demands. She gives Nicole a short nod. “Continue.”

“Uh,” Nicole says, looking at Waverly.

_Dependability_ , Waverly mouths.

“Right. I’m dependable. I’m organized. I’ll, uh, commit to mowing your lawn weekly and keeping it looking like the bombdiggity.”

Wynonna starts laughing again. “ _Bomb_ diggity,” she wheezes. “You said bombdiggity.”

Nicole scowls. “Can it, Wynonna.”

“So what you’re saying,” Gus says loudly, cutting in. “Is that you want to mow lawns?”

“Yes, ma’am. Gus,” Nicole quickly says. “I want to mow lawns. And I want to mow yours, so that we can show people that I _can_ mow. I, uh. I brought it,” she says, hooking her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the Snapper, sitting on the trailer looped around her Bridgestone in the driveway.

Gus’s eyes narrow. “Someone says you can’t?”

Nicole hesitates long enough for Waverly to jump in.

“Some people think Nicole can’t because she’s a girl.”

_You’re just a girl_ , her dad’s words echo in her head. _You stay here with your mom. Me and Nathan are going to go to the car show in Edmonton. It’s what boys do_.

Nicole watches the muscles in Gus’s jaw click as she grinds her back teeth together. “They said _what_?”

“That I was a girl and so-”

“And so _what_?” Gus interrupts.

Nicole keeps her mouth shut. Gus is asking a question, but Nicole isn’t sure Gus is looking for an answer, and Waverly isn’t saying anything either, so Nicole just scratches at the back of her neck and tries not to scuff the toe of her sneakers on the porch.

Gus’s eyes and voice soften. “Of course, Nicole. You can cut my lawn.” She snorts. “Have at it. Lord knows I haven’t done a decent job of it since Curtis.”

Waverly squeals and grabs Gus by the arm, turning her around and leaning over the porch railing, pointing at the lawnmower.

Nicole makes sure they’re not looking, turns, and slugs Wynonna in the arm, just above her elbow.

“ _Ow_ ,” Wynonna hisses.

“You’re a wastoid,” Nicole fires back.

Waverly and Gus look up at them, frowning. Nicole notices how it’s the same look on both of their faces: it’s the same downturn of their lips and the same scrunched nose and the same wrinkled forehead.

She gives them a wide smile, waiting until they turn back around to face the lawn. Then she blocks the arm Wynonna swings at her, grabbing Wynonna’s wrist and turning it the way Nathan taught her to after they watched _The Karate Kid_. Wynonna’s eyes start to water and she whimpers softly, tapping two fingers against Nicole’s leg to signal that she’s out. Nicole lets her go, grinning. Wynonna pokes two fingers into her side, hard, and she doubles over in pain.

“What are you two doing?” Waverly asks, leaning back against the porch railing.

Nicole straightens up, pressing a flat hand against her side to take away some of the ache. “Nothing.”

“Yeah,” Wynonna agrees. “We’re not-”

A black 1951 Vincent Black Lightning roars into the driveway, cutting Wynonna off.

“Is that the Holliday boy?” Gus asks, her voice flat.

“Hell yeah, it is.” Wynonna adjusts her Black Sabbath World Tour ‘78 shirt and throws her hair over one shoulder. “Don’t wait up,” she tells Gus as she starts down the stairs.

“I won’t,” Gus says. “Because you’ll be home by curfew.”

Wynonna turns on the bottom step, pouting with a hand on her hip. “Gus,” she whines.

“And not a minute longer.”

“ _Gus_.”

Gus slowly crosses her arms over her chest, eyes unblinking. “Are you askin’ me to change your curfew?”

Wynonna straightens up, a smile on her face. “Yes! _Finally_.” She nods excitedly. “Yes, change my curfew.”

Gus nods. “Okay, good. You can come home at 9:30 instead of 10.”

Wynonna’s mouth drops open.

Waverly giggles, pressing a hand to her mouth to quiet the laughter. Nicole clamps her lips together tightly, looking down at the porch to keep herself focused on something besides the red coloring in Wynonna’s cheeks and the swear word forming on her tongue.

“ _And_ ,” Gus cuts in before Wynonna can say anything. “Any argument you make costs you an extra half hour. Are you looking to make curfew 9?”

“No,” Wynonna growls. She turns and stomps down the rest of the stairs, her Altma’s heavy on the wood.

Doc raises a hand from where he’s sitting on the Vincent, his helmet on his knee. He hands Wynonna the extra helmet on the back of the motorcycle, letting her get on before he releases the brake. They back down the driveway slowly, Wynonna clutching to his middle tightly as he revs the engine and hits the gas, rocketing forward.

“Death traps,” Gus mutters.

Waverly grabs for Nicole’s hand, pulling her across the porch towards the screen door. “Let’s go upstairs and figure out your battle plan.”

“Battle plan,” Nicole snorts. “I’m not going to war.”

Waverly stops and gives a look that tells Nicole war is exactly what she’s waging; a war on Mr. La Pierre and the rest of the neighborhood. Nicole swallows heavily, her hand twitching in Waverly’s grasp. Waverly squeezes back, their fingers lacing for a half second as they cross the threshold into the house. The tie around Nicole’s neck feels uncomfortably tight; she’s not sure if it’s taking all of the air out of her lungs, or if it’s the way Waverly’s palm moves against her own.

“You do best to stay away from my flowers,” Gus reminds her, following them into the house.

Nicole pulls her hand out of Waverly’s, pausing for a moment to turn and face Gus. “I will,” she promises.

Gus stops her on her way up the stairs, a hand on Nicole’s arm. “Hold on a minute, girl.”

Waverly keeps moving, taking the steps two at a time until she disappears around the corner into her room.

Nicole swallows nervously, her eyes roaming along the front hallway. Nothing has changed in the nine years Nicole has known the McCreadys: there’s a mat for shoes and a coat rack and a small table where Curtis’s old glasses are still sitting. There’s old pictures on the walls; pictures of Gus and Curtis on their wedding day, a picture of Wynonna and Waverly and a girl Nicole knows is Willa, a picture of Curtis’s truck on the day they bought it.

“What’s this song and dance all about?” Gus asks, her voice gruff, but soft.

Nicole’s shoulders sag. “No one wants me to mow their lawn.” She sighs at the look of confusion on Gus’s face. “Because I’m a girl.”

Gus’s face doesn’t change. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know,” Nicole admits. “I can lift just as much as Nathan. I can even edge a lawn better than he can, because he doesn’t _care_ about making straight lines. I’m better at it than he is. I can be the best damn lawn mower in this neighborhood! It doesn’t matter that I’m a _girl_ . I can do _anything_ . I _can_ get a car, and I _can_ keep Wynonna on track, and I _can_ be a cop, just because I can be _good_ at whatever I decide I want to do!” She inhales sharply, realizing she’s out of breath.

Gus is smiling a little, the corner of her mouth turned up on one side. “There she is.”

“Who?” Nicole pants.

Gus squeezes her arm gently. “The Nicole I know.”

“Oh,” she manages.

“The Nicole Haught _I_ know would never let an old fart like Mr. La Pierre tell her what she can and cannot do,” Gus says. “The Nicole Haught _I_ know would already be out, working, showing the world that there’s nothing that can hold her back. _That’s_ the Nicole I know. It’s the Nicole Curtis knew, too.”

Nicole’s stomach bottoms out, making it feel like the floor is gone beneath her feet.

Gus squeezes her arm again. “It’s the Nicole we both love,” she finishes.

Nicole tries to swallow, but there’s a lump in her throat she can’t get around. It swells until she feels like she’s choking on everything she never said to Gus after that phone call. Every _I’m sorry_ and _I wish I never handed you the phone_ bubbles up to the tip of her tongue, and it takes everything within her to not let it loose into the space between them.

There’s a look on Gus’s face that says she knows there’s something Nicole wants to say, but can’t. She leans up on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to Nicole’s cheek. “Go get ‘em, girl,” she whispers before she drops back down onto her heels and pads softly into the kitchen.

Nicole rests a hand on the banister, feeling 14 and taking her first deep breath before walking into a world without Curtis. There’s a pressure on her shoulders that makes it hard to lift her foot and start up the stairs, but by the time she’s halfway up, the pressure is gone and something warm is left behind, carrying her all the way into Waverly’s room.

“Here,” Waverly says as she throws a shirt at Nicole’s face.

It tangles around her neck for a minute, but Nicole unwinds it and holds it up to look at it. It’s an old Boston Third Stage shirt she left behind years ago, when she was spending nearly every night in Wynonna’s bed with Wynonna and Waverly on either side of her.

_Well,_ Nicole thinks. _It used to be my shirt_.

The sleeves have been ripped off, making large tears in the side where the rip ran. Nicole looks at it hesitantly. “I can’t wear this.”

Waverly sighs. “If you wear a regular shirt, you’ll get a funny tan. You’ll look like Cora Odam. You know, because she lifeguards at the pool, she has to wear that one piece bathing suit. Her stomach looks like a Lite Brite board by the time school starts.”

Nicole narrows her eyes, ready to argue back, but Waverly waves a hand at her. “Just change into it. You can’t mow Gus’s lawn in your Sunday best,” she teases.

Nicole looks at the shirt again, trying to picture it on her body. Her eyes widen slightly. “Waverly. Everyone… everyone is going to see my bra,” she hisses. _Again_ , she thinks, remembering that time in gym class.

Waverly shrugs, but her eyes are slightly wider than normal.

_She must have just realized that, too,_ Nicole thinks. _And now she’s embarrassed that I brought it up_.

Waverly clears her throat. “It’s… That’s fine,” she says slowly.

Nicole feels her face flush. “No. I need… Give me one of your tank tops.”

“No,” Waverly says quickly. “I mean, you won’t fit into them. You’re… tall.”

Nicole looks down at her body and frowns. “I’m not wearing this without a tank top underneath.”

Waverly sighs. “Fine,” she says after a minute. She turns and starts pulling open her dresser drawers, digging through shirts and jean shorts.

“Hey!” Nicole says. She lunges forward and grabs for a shirt in the drawer that Waverly is going through. She catches the sleeve and tugs, pulling it against her chest. “Is this my Chicago shirt?” She holds it up, looking it over. It _is_ her Chicago shirt - a red ringer tee with a darker red neck and sleeve. “Why do you have this? I’ve been looking for it _everywhere_.”

Waverly shrugs. “You must have left it here.”

“I asked you about it a _month_ ago.”

“Well, I didn’t know I had it,” Waverly says defensively.

Nicole’s arms drop, her eyes going wide. “You didn’t know you had it?” she asks.

“No,” Waverly insists. She throws her arms up in the air quickly, making Nicole jump back a step. “Fine, whatever. Keep it.”

Nicole slowly moves across the room, ducking around Waverly, and putting the shirt back in the drawer. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “I didn’t even miss it,” she lies.

Waverly glares at her for a moment before her eyes soften. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Are you going to get changed?”

“I need a tank top,” Nicole reminds her gently.

Waverly opens the top drawer and takes a tank top out, handing it slowly to Nicole. Their fingers brush where they’re both holding the shirt, and Nicole resists the urge to shiver at the surge of electricity running through her body.

Nicole stands in front of the mirror on Waverly’s wall and unbuttons the two small buttons holding down the collar of the shirt. She pulls at the knot on the tie she’s wearing, sighing softly when some of the pressure at her throat subsides. She exhales slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back and wincing when the humidity holds it in place. Eyes still closed, she slips the first button on the platt out of place.

Waverly squeaks.

Nicole’s eyes open quickly, a rush of something hot burning across her cheeks and down her chest. She clutches the two sides of her shirt tightly under her neck. “ _Shiz nitz_ ,” she hisses.

Waverly’s eyes are wide and her cheeks are pink. “Bathroom,” she manages, her voice still squeaking. “You can change in the bathroom.”

“I forgot,” Nicole mumbles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, no,” Waverly tries to assure her. “I just… _I_ need to get changed.”

“Right. Right. Right,” Nicole repeats, picking up the Boston shirt off the floor where she had dropped it. She holds it to her chest. “I’ll just… meet you downstairs.”

Waverly nods silently, her eyes still wide and on Nicole.

“Aces,” Nicole breathes out. She backs up slowly, almost tripping over Waverly’s sneakers by her bedroom door. Nicole keeps going over them, down the hall and into Wynonna’s room, shutting the door behind her. She leans back against it, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

She almost took off her shirt in front of Waverly - _Waverly Earp_ , the girl she’s pretty sure she’s in love with. At least, the girl she’s sure she _likes_ . Waverly is the girl she thinks about when she hears “Is This Love?” on the radio, or when she sees the one commercial on TV where the guy is buying an engagement ring. Waverly makes her stomach twist in a way that doesn’t feel _bad_ , but it feels different.

It feels _different_ than it felt with Shae.

Her hands are shaking as she resumes unbuttoning her shirt. She works the tie over her head and drops it somewhere behind her. She lets the shirt fall off her shoulders onto Wynonna’s floor, vowing to find it later in the mess of dirty clothes littered everywhere. She slowly pulls on Waverly’s tank top, breathing in the smell of Waverly’s laundry detergent for a moment before she settles the fabric on her body. She quickly slides into the Boston shirt and sighs; Waverly ripped the sides to shreds and it hangs too loose on her body, but now that she has that heavy collared shirt off, she’s not putting it back on.

Waverly’s door is still closed when Nicole pulls Wynonna’s open, and so Nicole decides to go outside and wait for Waverly. She can hear Gus banging around in the kitchen, probably starting dinner - she had said she was making something for the girls to reheat because she needed to go in and close The Patch down. Nicole pushes through the screen door and sits down on the top step of the porch, stretching her legs out.

She sings all of “Blue Collar Man,” using the steps and the porch as her drums and shredding the air guitar. Waverly still hasn’t come downstairs. Nicole sighs, lifting herself off the steps and deciding to get started without her.

The Snapper comes down off the trailer easily, Nicole setting it down gently at the edge of the driveway. She takes her Hitachi out of the basket on the front of her bicycle and pulls up the small handle she usually has pushed down. She hooks the radio carefully onto the small bar at the end of the handle. It swings side to side, but Nicole figures it’ll still play her ACDC _Fly on the Wall_ tape.

She pulls the starter and grins when the mower comes to life under her hands. She starts on the small patch of grass on the far side of the driveway, between the McCreadys’ property line and the neighbors’. She does it quickly, singing along loudly to “Fly on the Wall” as she wheels the mower back across the driveway.

Her plan is simple: straight up and down lines all the way across. She’ll stop at the porch steps and follow an imaginary perpendicular line as her boundary. _That way_ , she reasons, _I don’t go anywhere near Gus’s flowers_. She starts near the steps, walking a straight line down to the mailbox, looping around, and coming back up to the stairs. She lets the front wheel of the mower brush the steps as she turns again, going back to the curb. “Fly on the Wall” ends and “Shake Your Foundations” comes on.

“ _I get up and I slide across the floor_ ,” she sings. “ _You want to come and I'll meet you at the door. No one can stop us, 'cause we're feelin' too right. We're gonna steal our way around tonight_.”

She looks up as she reaches the steps and the lawnmower jumps under her hands.

Waverly is standing on the top of the steps in a two-piece bathing suit that makes Nicole’s heart race and her throat dry. She has her Ray Ban Wayfarers pushed up into her hair and one hand resting on the bare skin of her hip.

There’s a terrible choking sound and Nicole looks down in horror, watching as the blade of the lawnmower hacks Gus’s flowers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hisses. She lets go of the clutch lever and the Snapper cuts out, a fistful of flowers sticking out from its metal frame. She looks up slowly, her eyes wide.

“Oh, no,” Waverly breathes out. “Gus is going to _kill_ you.”

Nicole groans, dropping her head into her hands. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“Language,” Waverly says, coming down the stairs.

Nicole scrambles back a foot, pulling at the collar of her Boston shirt. “That’s… uh... “ she tries.

Waverly looks down at her bathing suit and then looks up proudly, twisting her body back and forth gently. “Do you like it?”

“Y-yes,” Nicole sputters. “I mean. It’s nice. Cool. Tubular.”

Waverly’s eyes sparkle. “Tubular,” she repeats.

“Totally,” Nicole breathes out.

Waverly’s bathing suit is _small._ That’s the first thing Nicole thinks to herself. It covers things, but not with any extra. The top is strapless and the bottom is highwaisted. But it’s the colors that punch Nicole in the teeth and take her breath away. The bathing suit is pink and blue, the two colors winding around Waverly’s body and bleeding into each other.

_She looks like the neon lights at Shorty’s_ is Nicole’s next thought.

She swallows heavily, unable to look away from Waverly’s bathing suit. She’s picturing Waverly in roller skates, laughing as something stupid plays on the overhead speakers, something like Phil Collins, and Nicole skates in circles around her. She’s picturing Waverly in those blue and pink lights, and how they would catch in her hair and stay there all night, like small pockets of neon Nicole could reach out and run her hands through.

“Poor Gus,” Waverly says, coming down the steps. She stops at the bottom of them.

Nicole blinks. “What?” She looks down at the mangled flowers by her feet. “Oh. Right.” She looks back up and Waverly is closer. “What?” she asks again.

“You have…” Waverly sighs, a soft smile on her face. She reaches out and picks something out of Nicole’s hair. “Grass clippings,’ she explains, holding up a tuft of loose grass.

“Thanks,” Nicole breathes out.

“Welcome,” Waverly says back, turning on her heel and walking back across the lawn, her hips swaying.

Nicole thinks she looks like wild neon, like what the lights must look like when there’s no one there to see them. She buzzes a little as she walks, humming something Nicole can’t quite put her finger on. If she listens hard enough, it almost sounds like the same noise the neon lights sing as they flicker off.

Waverly leans over the porch railing, looking down at the flowers. “Maybe you can just get them out of the mower and put them back for now? I can replant them later.”

Nicole frowns. “Won’t Gus notice?”

Waverly shrugs. “She’s going to close The Patch and by the time she gets home, it’ll be dark. You should be fine for one day.”

Nicole hesitates, but Waverly gives her a reassuring smile. She kneels in the grass she carefully extracts the flowers from the blade, laying them gently in the dirt she tore them out of. She looks up as she’s kneeling there, at Waverly leaning over her. She smiles a little and feels her chest flutter when Waverly smiles back.

She takes a deep breath and unhooks her Hitachi from the the mower, reaching up and handing it to Waverly. “Here. You take this.”

Waverly frowns at the song playing, but takes the radio and rests it on the railing.

“ _Aye, aye, oh, shake your foundations. Aye, aye, oh, shake it to the floor. Aye, aye, oh, shake your foundations. Aye, aye, oh, shake it_ ,” Brian Johnson sings.

“Want a soda?” Waverly asks, pulling her Wayfarers down over her eyes.

_Yes_ , Nicole’s head screams.

“No,” she says out loud.

Waverly smiles at her. “Let me know if you change your mind.” She settles on the porch, leaning back in the same lawn chair she used last week, set up in the sunlight.

Nicole takes a deep, steadying breath, and turns back to the lawnmower. She peeks back over her shoulder, but Waverly is singing along to “Shake Your Foundations” and tapping her toe against the wooden railing of the porch. Nicole pulls the starter again, holding down the clutch lever as the Snapper kicks on. She walks down towards the curb, turning and coming back to the porch.

Waverly lowers her sunglasses as Nicole comes closer to the house, winking at Nicole.

The Snapper jerks again, but Nicole manages to hold onto it this time.

Every time she walks back towards the house, Waverly waves or winks or smiles at her. Nicole takes her time pushing the mower towards the curb, trying to catch her breath in between each each return to Waverly. She gets close to Waverly, and her entire body hums noisily.

Nicole stops before Waverly turns the tape over, letting go of the clutch lever and looking around the lawn. She lifts the bottom of her Boston shirt and wipes at her forehead. She turns, grinning at Waverly. “I’m done.”

Waverly squeals, pulling off her Wayfarers and leaning over the rail agail. She lifts up Gus’s Polaroid 630 Lightmixer, wiggling it at Nicole. “Picture time!”

Nicole immediately starts shaking her head. “No.”

Waverly marches off the porch, her hips swaying. Nicole’s eyes catch on the way the fabric of her bathing suit catches the light, the colors bleeding into each other like the lights in the roller rink as the disco ball slowly spins above the floor.

Something clicks and flashes, and Nicole looks up just as Waverly lowers the camera. “ _Waves_ ,” she complains.

“Stand there with the lawnmower,” she instructs.

“Waverly,” Nicole groans. “Come _on_.”

Waverly lowers the camera. “If you would just smile like you’re actually _proud_ of what you’ve done, this would be easy.” She lifts the camera back up.

Nicole flips her off.

“Hey!” Waverly yells, lowering the camera. She charges Nicole, jumping when she’s a few steps away and launching herself at Nicole, the camera held protectively against her chest.

Nicole catches her around the middle but they go crashing down into the fresh-cut grass, laughing as the clippings end up in their hair. Nicole rolls onto her back, breathing heavily and squinting up into the sun. Waverly lays down next to her, her free hand brushing Nicole’s in the grass.

“The picture,” Nicole says softly.

Waverly turns her head, bringing the camera up to her eye and pressing the shutter button. “There,” she breathes out as she lowers the camera.

Nicole can feel her neck straining as she inches closer to Waverly. She swears she sees Waverly’s eyes flutter.

A car backfires and Nicole jumps. Waverly laughs, rolling over onto her back again, her chest rising and falling for a moment before she sits up and shakes her hair, grass clipping fall off of her like leaves in October. She stands up, reaching back down for Nicole.

For a moment, Nicole thinks about taking her hand again and pulling her down, rolling her over, and seeing if she’s made of electricity. Instead, Nicole sighs and takes Waverly’s hand, standing slowly. Instead, she lets Waverly move her back over to the mower, and she lets Waverly twist her in different directions until she’s posed exactly the way Waverly wants her to be.

“Say… ‘ _Making money!’_ ,” Waverly cheers.

Nicole rolls her eyes and smiles just as Waverly presses the shutter button.

 

-

Nicole pulls at the laces of the Timberland Crosscut Loggers she borrowed from the back of Nathan’s closet, trying to pull what’s left of the string tighter around her ankles. She can feel grass clippings against the skin of her ankles, rubbing against where her socks sit, and for a second, she debates taking the whole boot off, shaking it out, and putting it back on.

She just stomps her foot instead, trying to force the grass clippings to fall down somewhere into the boot, and wipes at the back of her neck. It’s 29°C now, and the temperature is only supposed to get hotter as the day stretches on. Nicole grabs at the back of the cargo shorts she borrowed from Nathan, hitching them up a little. The tank top she’s wearing underneath her cutoff - the one Waverly gave her a few weeks ago - is soaked in sweat. She’s three lawns in today, two lawns to go, and the Eagles _Hotel California_ tour shirt she ripped the sleeves off is covered in a fine layer of dust and grass.

“You need a drink?” Waverly asks.

Nicole’s head snaps up, the whole world spinning for a second.

It’s been a few weeks of mowing lawns now. She had taken the Polaroid of herself, her Snapper, and Waverly over to Mr. La Pierre’s house, ready to launch into a speech she had spent the night before crafting. She had called Waverly on the phone, curled up in her pantry with her foot against the door to keep Nathan out, and recited the whole thing.

“I’m so _proud_ ,” Waverly whispered into the phone.

Nicole shivered a little, like she could feel Waverly’s hot breath against her ear. She ducked her head, feeling a hot blush across her cheeks. “Yeah?” she asked quietly.

“You presented all of the potential cons and then _destroyed_ them,” Waverly said. “Just like when He-Man destroys Dragstor in _The Warrior Machine_.”

“Really?”

Waverly made a humming noise. “Jeremy told me all about it after he got the comic. He wouldn’t stop talking about it. But, like, Dragstor is your lawnmowing business, and Mr. La Pierre is Hordak and-”

“ _I’m_ He-Man?” Nicole asked breathlessly.

Waverly laughed. “Of course you are.”

“ _Nicole_ , quit hogging the phone. I need to call Hetty Tate,” Nathan shouted, pounding on the pantry door.

Nicole had hung up and vowed to meet Waverly outside the McCready house the next morning. She had even tried to drag Wynonna out of bed, but Wynonna had lifted the covers off her head, flipped her off, and told her to come back when the sun was actually high enough in the sky for Wynonna to see it.

Nicole parked her Bridgestone and Snapper in the driveway, tightened the belt on her too-big cargo shorts she wrestled out of Nathan’s hands, and marched up Mr. La Pierre’s steps, imagining what He-Man would do.

Mr. La Pierre opened the door, took one look at her, sighed, and told her to make sure she didn’t knock down the mailbox like Pete York did the week before.

“Just like that?” Waverly asked when Nicole came back down the driveway.

“Just like that,” Nicole said, looking back over her shoulder at the front door. She frowned, wondering how he changed his mind so quickly. She can see him through the living room window, settling back into his armchair and pressing a button on his remote control. She wondered if Pete York did that bad of a job, or - for a second, she wonders if Waverly called him and lectured him. It felt like something Waverly would do.

After the La Pierre’s lawn, the Jordans had eagerly let her take down the nearly foot-long grass stretching out across the front of their house. The Ryans had tried to offer her a hat, so her face wouldn’t burn in the sun, and the Delocattas had given her a bag of sunflower seeds as a thank you.

Waverly had come with her to every house, the front of her Stingray heavy with a milkcrate she tied on herself, loaded with a small cooler, Nicole’s Hitachi, and enough tapes to last an entire school day. Nicole could barely hear any of the music she played - she was sure Waverly brought that stupid Devo tape - but every time she looked over her shoulder, Waverly was leaning across the front of her handlebars, her hair in a high side ponytail, a smile on her face, her Wayfarers on.

Nicole’s heart had fluttered in her chest, and her whole body shook, but she’s sure that was just the vibrations from the Snapper as she held down the clutch lever.

“You want a soda?” Waverly asks again, opening the cooler top and lifting a can out of the ice. She shakes it in Nicole’s direction. “It’s _harsh_ out here.”

Nicole leaves the Snapper in the middle of the lawn and crosses the grass, taking the can out of Waverly’s hands with a grateful sigh. She pops the top and drains half of the soda, not even caring as the carbonation burns the back of her throat. When she finally takes the can from her lips, Waverly is staring at her, eyes wide. “Sorry,” she mutters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m thirsty.”

Waverly’s eyes have a soft glaze to them, and she blinks a few times before it goes away. “Yeah, I bet,” she says, her voice still sounding far away. She clears her throat and turns down the radio, almost cutting Kim Carnes off in the middle of “Bette Davis Eyes.” Waverly runs her finger along the top of the Hitachi. “Are you almost done?”

Nicole leans back against Waverly’s handlebars, Waverly’s hands brushing against her ribcage gently. “Nearly,” she pants. “I swear his lawn gets bigger every week we come here.”

Waverly’s fingertips dig into the soft skin right under her shoulder blade. Nicole groans as Waverly finds a knot, gently pressing against it and moving it around, trying to loosen it. “I don’t think so. You’re already way ahead of schedule.”

Nicole looks at Waverly over her shoulder. “Really?”

Waverly hums, holding out her wrist. She borrowed Gus’s watch to keep track of when she needs to get to The Patch for her afternoon shift. “We’ve only been here twenty minutes.”

Nicole’s eyes widen. “Really?” she repeats. She looks back at the lawn for a moment. “I did almost all of it.”

Waverly grins at her. “I _told_ you.” Her fingers walk up Nicole’s shoulder blades, over the top of her shoulders, and down her bare arms. They slide over the muscle building there, the result of four weeks of mowing; of dragging the Snapper up and down driveways; of lifting the mower onto the trailer six times a day; of steering the vibrating 40kg machine up and down the lawns for hours.

Goosebumps explode under Waverly’s fingernails. Nicole bites her lip to stop the shiver threatening to race through her body.

“You might be able to get Gus’s lawn done today, too,” Waverly says casually.

Nicole snorts. “You mean, you might be able to get some hours under the sun.”

Waverly shimmies her bare shoulders a little, the fabric of the loose shirt she’s wearing swishing softly. “Maybe.”

Nicole takes another sip of her soda, turning back to face the lawn. She feels Waverly’s chin against her shoulder as Waverly leans over her handlebars, her lips near Nicole’s ear. Nicole’s entire body tenses, but she forces herself to relax as one of Waverly’s arms winds around her other shoulder, her hand resting on just below Nicole’s neck.

“If you finish this lawn in the next ten minutes, I’ll make you a fluffernutter when we get home,” Waverly breathes out.

Nicole’s stomach flops - at the word _home_ or the idea of a fluffernutter, she isn’t quite sure. But she nods shakily, draining the last of her Orange Crush and flattening the can under the heel of her boot with a satisfying crunch.

“ _Recycle_ ,” Waverly hisses, picking up the flattened can before Nicole can toss it into the garbage cans by Mr. La Pierre’s black 1983 Buick Regal. Waverly tucks the can into the basket on her Stingray.

“What’re you going to do with it now?” Nicole asks, reaching for the metal piece.

Waverly covers the basket with her hand. “I’ll take the tab.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Then you don’t need the whole can.”

“I’m _recycling_ it,” Waverly says firmly, putting her free hand on her hip, her eyes narrowed in challenge.

Nicole stares her down for a minute before she sighs and throws a hand up in the air. “Fine. Don’t get your hair tie in a twist.” She pushes off of Waverly’s handlebars, grinning at her, before she goes back to the Snapper in the middle of the lawn. She pulls the starter, her eyes still on Waverly, and lets the mower roar to life just as Waverly presses play on the Hitachi.

It doesn’t take too long to mow the rest of Mr. La Pierre’s yard; a few yards across and then she’s cutting the engine, wheeling the Snapper back to her Bridgestone, parked next to Waverly’s bicycle. She gets it onto the trailer easily and lets Waverly take care of tying it down.

She knocks on Mr. La Pierre’s door, whistling along to REO Speedwagon playing on the Hitachi.

“You done?” he asks through the screen.

Nicole puts on her best smile, the one that makes her cheeks ache from trying to hold it so long, and nods. “Yes, sir. You should be all set until next week.”

The screen door cracks open and Mr. La Pierre pushes CA$20 at her. He grunts and lets the door close again.

Nicole’s smile drops quickly and she rubs at her jaw. “He’s got the personality of a wet mop,” she grouses.

Waverly rolls her eyes. “He pays you. Don’t be rude.”

Nicole mounts her bicycle, waiting until Waverly is on hers before she pushes off, using the curb as leverage.

“How much is that, now?” Waverly asks as they move slowly down the street.

Nicole counts in her head. “Fifteen lawns-”

“Seventeen,” Waverly corrects. “You added the Gagnons and the Cotes two weeks ago.”

Nicole pauses for a second. “Right. Okay. Hold on.” She starts over in her head. “So, fifteen houses every week for four weeks is-”

“1200,” Waverly figures out.

“And then those other two houses are $20 each, for two weeks each, so…” Nicole frowns. “An extra $80?”

Waverly grins at her. “That’s right.”

They turn off of Nicole’s street, heading towards Homestead. Nicole adds the McCready lawn to her list every week, but she won’t let Gus pay her. Instead, Gus keeps the refrigerator full of Orange Crush - that Wynonna is _not_ allowed to touch - and Nicole gets to stay for dinner nearly every night of the week. Nicole’s mouth starts to water as she thinks about tonight’s dinner: Gus promised them all this morning that she would make barbecue chicken on the grill out back and grilled corn. They got their new _Rolling Stone_ issue, and even though Paul Simon is on the cover, Nicole is excited to flip through it.

“Pretty soon you’ll have enough to buy a car,” Waverly says. Her voice gets soft and dreamy. “And we can go for rides and listen to Bonnie Tyler and we can go up to-” She stops abruptly, the tips of her ears red.

Nicole pedals harder, leaning in to get closer to Waverly. “And go where?” she asks.

Waverly shakes her head. “Nevermind. We can go _anywhere_.”

_Lover’s Lane_ is Nicole’s first thought. Her throat burns at the thought. Nathan took Hetty Tate up there once, he claimed. He said he went up there a boy and came back into town a man. Nicole threw a shoe at him when he wouldn’t shut up, but after that, she started listening at school, to the talk about Lover’s Lane; who went together, who wanted to go with who. She knew Doc had taken Wynonna up there once before, but Wynonna told her all they did was sit on the ledge and look down at the town beneath them.

Nicole was sure that Wynonna was lying, but Wynonna will tell her when she’s ready to.

Waverly cuts in front of her abruptly, pulling Nicole out of her head. She screeches to a stop in the McCreadys’ driveway, getting off her Stingray and leaning it against the side of the house. Nicole stops pedaling, letting her Bridgestone come to a slow stop in the driveway. She gets off, leaving it behind Gus’s ‘79 Ford Fairmont station wagon. She puts the small block of wood she carries in the trailer behind the wheels, making sure the trailer doesn’t roll away when she takes the weight of the Snapper off of it. She sets it down on the lawn, wincing slightly as her eyes stray to the flowers she decapitated a few weeks ago.

“Don’t worry about them,” Waverly says, following her gaze. “Gus said it was fine.”

“And then _didn’t_ give me seconds of those peas she made,” Nicole adds, grumbling.

Waverly rolls her eyes, her arms crossing in front of her body as she reaches for the hem of her shirt. Nicole watches, her mouth parted, as Waverly twists and pulls, her shirt lifting up and off her body in one smooth motion. She tosses her shirt somewhere onto the porch; Nicole’s eyes get stuck on the smooth curves of Waverly’s hips coming up from the top of her shorts, and the way her chest rises and falls as she breathes. She’s still in her bathing suit, the one Nicole secretly calls ‘ _neon lights,_ ’ and it still makes Nicole’s heart stop everytime.

Waverly’s hands move to the button on her denim shorts, popping it open and sliding down the zipper. She wiggles her hips a little, shimmying to try and get the shorts down over her thighs, and then they’re sliding down her smooth legs, pooling in the grass.

Nicole can hear Foreigner in her head: “ _I've been waiting for a girl like you to come into my life. I've been waiting for a girl like you, your loving will survive. I've been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive_.”

It takes her a minute to realize it’s because Waverly put _4_ in the Hitachi.

Waverly reaches up onto the porch and grabs the towel she leaves there in the mornings, laying it out on the grass. Nicole will save that spot for last, working in circles around Waverly until she _has_ to mow the spot Waverly is stretched out on.

“What’re you reading today?” Nicole asks.

Waverly holds up the book she slid into the basket on her bicycle - _Claudia and the Phantom Phone Calls_.

Nicole frowns. “Is that one of those-”

“If you make fun of me for reading _The Baby-Sitters Club_ , I’m going to empty all of the Orange Crush sodas right in front of your face,” Waverly says, her words a promise.

Nicole holds both hands up in surrender. “I would never,” she vows.

Waverly looks over the top of her Wayfarers. “And I’m Princess Diana.”

“You’re prettier,” Nicole says, immediately wishing she could reach out and shove the words back into her mouth.

Waverly’s cheeks flush red, but she pulls her book up over her face and lays back in the sun, stretching her legs out.

Nicole stares at her for a moment, at her tanned legs and her tanned arms and the way there’s just so much skin Nicole has never even touched. She swallows, her throat dry. She wonders for a moment if she should go inside and get a glass of water, but she doesn’t have long until Waverly needs to get ready for her shift at The Patch, and she wants to spend as much time as she can with Waverly.

She pulls the starter and starts in the far corner of the lawn.

Nicole daydreams while she mows; sometimes, she thinks of leaving the mower in the middle of the lawn and marching through the grass clippings to tell Waverly about the ocean that lives inside her stomach, that ebbs and flows with every word Waverly says; other times, she thinks about Waverly handing her an Orange Crush and instead of reaching for the soda, Nicole reaches for Waverly, pulling her close until their hips fit together and she dips her head and-

An engine backfires; Nicole barely hears it over the roar of the Snapper, but she sees the black cloud of smoke coming towards them and knows it has to be Champ in his ugly, terracotta red, 1983 Toyota SR5 with a spoiler on the front and a rack in the back, foglights mounted on top. Every time Nicole pictures it, she wants to ralph.

She looks across the lawn at Waverly and sees her put her book down, sliding her Wayfarers into her hair.

A part of Nicole, the one that still simmers with all the things Shae said to her, gets cagey and jealous at the idea of Waverly sitting up in her _neon lights_ and pushing her sunglasses into her hair for _Champ Hardy_ . The other part of Nicole, the one that spends Friday nights while Wynonna is out with Doc curled up at the end of Waverly’s bed, with Waverly’s fingers in her hair while they reread _Rolling Stone_ articles, knows that Waverly is only looking so she can roll her eyes and sit back down again.

She lets the motor cut out and she leans against the handle of the Snapper, watching as Champ’s truck fishtails when he hits the brakes, burning rubber into the pavement. Nicole wrinkles her nose at the smell, glaring.

“Hairspray isn’t going to kill the ozone,” Nicole mutters. “Champ is.”

Waverly tips her head to the side. “Did you say something?”

Nicole shakes her head quickly. “No. No way.”

Champ opens his door and slides out of his truck, the lifted tires even a little too high for him. “Hey, Waverly,” he calls, leering. He doesn’t look in Nicole’s direction, choosing instead to ignore her.

Waverly sits up a little more, pushing up with her hands. “Champ.”

Champ walks through Nicole’s freshly cut lawn, kicking grass clippings left and right. Some of them stick to the stupid Jackson Roper cowboy boots he wears, and Nicole laughs to herself when he reaches down to pull a wet clump off of the tan leather. He stops a few feet from Waverly’s towel, running a hand through his hair. He’s in his letterman jacket, even in this heat, and it takes everything in Nicole not to snort out loud.

“S’up?” he asks, angling his hips forward a little, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “You busy today?”

Waverly stands up, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

Nicole feels her jaw tense when she realizes Champ is looking Waverly up and down, making no effort to hide the way his eyes linger at Waverly’s hipbones or the swell of her breasts.

“I’m working at The Patch today.”

“But not now?” Champ asks.

Nicole rolls her eyes. “A regular Professor,” she mumbles.

Champ’s head snaps around. “What did you call me?”

“The Professor,” Nicole repeats. “From _Gilligan’s Island_?” she adds.

Champ stares blankly at her. “I don’t read books,” he finally says, looking away from her and back at Waverly. “But I like girls that do.”

“That’s nice, Champ,” Waverly says. She makes a big show of turning over her arm, checking Gus’s watch on her wrist. “Honest, I have to start getting ready for work.”

Champ reaches out. “Wait a second. I wanted to tell you that I’m thinking of letting you go to Shorty’s with me this weekend.”

Nicole’s stomach flops. She thinks about Waverly in those neon lights, kissing someone else against the side of the roller rink. She thinks about Waverly skating to a love song, her soft hand in Champ’s large, gorilla-like one.

“Back up,” she orders, taking a step towards him.

Champ jumps to the side a little. “I’m not talking to you.” He looks expectantly at Waverly.

“Oh,” Waverly says. “I mean. I have plans.”

Champ frowns. “Didn’t you hear me, though?”

“Yes,” Waverly says slowly. “And I’m… flattered that you want me to go with you to Shorty’s, but-”

“ _Thinking_ about it,” Champ corrects, grinning. He hooks a thumb behind the buckle of the belt he’s wearing. “Which other girls say, is like, a big horror.”

Nicole snorts. “A horror.”

“I meant _honor_ ,” Champ hisses.

Waverly smiles, the look not quite reaching her eyes. “Well, either way. I’m gonna have to pass. I have plans,” she repeats.”

“What kind of plans?” Champ asks. “What’s better than-”

“The _possibility_ of going out with you?” Nicole asks. She snorts again. “I can name _a hundred_ things.”

Champ glares at her. “You’re lucky you don’t like boys, because I’d never give you the time of day.”

“I’m really missing out,” she says dully.

“Sorry, Champ,” Waverly says again. “I really can’t.”

Champ takes a step closer to Waverly, angling himself so that Nicole is behind him. “Come on, Waves. We can go to The Patch. You can get us free fries and then we can go to Shorty’s and maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll take you up to Lover’s Lane in Bertha.”

“ _Bertha_ ,” Nicole exhales. “ _That’s_ what you named your truck?”

Champ flips her off.

Nicole makes a note to tell Nathan that he no longer has the stupidest car name in Purgatory.

Champ slides a little closer to Waverly, his hand stretched out and his fingers brushing against Waverly’s bare hip.

Nicole’s hand clenches into a fist. “Hey, hoser. Back up.”

Champ ignores her. “Come on, Waves,” he repeats. “You can make it worth my while.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Nicole growls, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around. “Back. Up.”

“What are you?” Champ asks. “Five-O?”

_Not yet_ , Nicole thinks. _But someday_.

Instead, she pushes forward, putting herself between Champ and Waverly. “She said, _no_.”

“She’s a big girl who can talk for herself,” Champ argues.

“She already did.”

“Well, if she-”

“And you didn’t listen,” Nicole interrupts, taking a step towards Champ. “So let me help you understand this, okay, Professor?” She can feel Waverly’s eyes on the back of her neck, burning into her skin. “She said _no_ . When a girl says _no_ , she means _no_ . And you, you big ape, need to hear it, respect it, and _back up_.” She looks back over her shoulder at Waverly. “Did I remember that right?”

“The article also said that women are free to change their minds. But I don’t want to,” Waverly adds quickly.

Nicole frowns for a second before she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at Champ. “So you got it? She doesn’t want you.”

Champ scowls for a moment, but then he leans in close, his eyes sparkling. “She doesn’t want you either,” he whispers.

Nicole feels her heart stop and her stomach bottom out and the blood in her veins turn ice cold. “Get _bent_ ,” she hisses, leaning in close.

Champ laughs, leaning back and throwing his arms out wide. “Or what? Are you going to chase me away with your _bicycle_?”

Nicole glares, her eyes settling on something just around the corner of the house. “Not my bike,” she says. “But I _will_ chase you off.” She turns neatly on her heel, eyes locked on the hose spigot just barely on the side of the house. She knows she’s partially shielded from Champ’s view - and he’s probably back to staring at Waverly anyway. She unwinds the hose from the circle it’s wrapped up in and cranks the spigot to the left, turning on the water.

The hose jerks under her hand as it inflates, ready to guide the gush of water being forced through it. Nicole slides her thumb over the end of it, hoping to control the spray when it finally makes its way out. She rounds the corner, her arm outstretched and the hose aimed at Champ.

“I think you need to cool down, Champ,” she says, her voice light and casual. She lifts the hose and points it at his face.

His mouth is open when the water first hits him, and he spits out a mouthful, sputtering at the relentless assault of hose-cold water. “What the _fuck_?” he shouts, holding up a hand to try and stop the force of the water. He stumbles backwards, his boots sliding in the puddle forming underneath him. “Stop it!” he squeals.

Nicole keeps walking forward, hauling the hose behind her. “In case you needed it spelled out, I’m chasing you off with a hose,” she hollers over his screaming.

Champ falls over and Nicole follows him to the ground, waving the hose back and forth, making sure to get everything from the tip of his head to the tip of his toes. He rolls in the wet grass, trying to get back to his feet. He slips again as soon as he stands up, falling face down into the grass. He eventually staggers to his feet, feet sliding underneath him as he runs for his truck.

Nicole follows, aiming the hose at his truck. He pulls the door open and tries to make jump into the driver’s seat. Nicole adjusts her thumb and widens her target spray, aiming right over Champ’s shoulder and into the interior of his truck. She can hear him shouting still, calling her a freak, but he slams the door and ducks below the window line.

The truck roars to life, going into reverse and rocketing back into the street. Champ sticks his arm out his window, flipping her off as he throws it into drive. His exhaust puts out a thick black cloud, but his tires squeal on the pavement and then he’s gone, around the corner and off somewhere else.

Nicole drops the hose into the grass, the water forming a puddle under her feet. She spins, finding Waverly’s eyes quickly. “I’m sorry,” Nicole says immediately. “I know you can totally handle him yourself, but he… He _touched_ you,” she finishes, breathless.

Waverly stares at her for a moment before reaching up and resting her palm to Nicole’s cheek. “My hero,” she murmurs. She leans up on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to Nicole’s other cheek, her lips dangerously close to Nicole’s.

“Uh, it was…” Nicole inhales, trying to find a thought that makes sense. “Thank welcome.”

Waverly giggles. “Thank welcome?”

Nicole feels her face flush. “I mean, you’re welcome.”

“That was aces,” Waverly says. “But I really do need to get ready for work.”

“Right,” Nicole breathes out. She clears her throat. “Right,” she says a little louder. “I need to-”

“Mow the lawn,” Waverly finishes. She smiles brightly. “I bet I can get dressed and make you a fluffernutter sandwich before you can finish this lawn.”

“Are you _challenging_ me, Waverly Earp?” Nicole asks.

Waverly takes a few steps backwards, her hand lingering on Nicole’s face and trailing off her cheek slowly. “I am. Loser has to give the winner a piggyback ride into The Patch and sing the winner’s favorite song.

Nicole points her finger at Waverly. “I am _not_ singing ‘Whip It!’,” she vows.

“Then you better win,” Waverly fires back, turning on her heel and sprinting across the lawn, giggling as she takes the steps in two leaps.

The screen door slams behind her and Nicole presses a hand to her cheek, imagining Waverly’s hand is still there under her own.

 

-

“Shouldn’t you be wearing sunscreen?” Chrissy asks, pushing up onto her elbows.

Nicole pauses in the middle of filling the Snapper with gas, her red tank in one hand and the gas cap in the other. “What?”

Chrissy pushes her Aviators up into her hair, making sure they stay before asking her question again. “Shouldn’t you be wearing sunscreen?”

Nicole looks down at her arms - finally tan after a nasty mid-July burn - and then back at Chrissy, pale in her bright yellow two-piece suit. “Shouldn’t _you_?”

Chrissy grins. “Only if you promise to help.”

The back of Nicole’s neck burns for a whole other reason besides the sun beating down on it.

Waverly clears her throat loudly and the blush spreads to Nicole’s face, heating up her cheeks.

Chrissy lays back in her lawn chair, the one Nicole swears she’s seen Sheriff Nedley use during the Heritage Day parade. She pulls her Aviators back down over her eyes, still smirking in Nicole’s direction. Nicole shakes her head gently, fighting back a smile, and finishes filling the mower. When she looks up, Waverly is glaring at her.

“What?”

“What?” Waverly echoes.

Nicole gestures at her own face. “You’re all…”

Waverly’s eyebrows nearly lift into her hairline. “I’m _what_?”

Nicole gives Waverly a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing,” she says easily. “Can I have a Crush?”

“You mean, you don’t have one?” Chrissy asks, biting down on her bottom lip.

“I…” Nicole trails off. “I meant _Orange_ Crush.”

“I know what you meant,” Waverly says loudly. She pulls a can of soda from the cooler at her side and stretches out her arm towards Nicole.

“I know you knew,” Nicole says quietly.

Before she can grab the can, Chrissy’s hand wraps around the aluminum. “Hold on,” she says, pulling the tab and opening the soda. She holds it out to Nicole. “Now it’s perfect.”

Nicole takes the can slowly, her eyes on Waverly. Waverly’s sunglasses are pulled down low over her eyes, but Nicole can tell she’s glaring again, this time at Chrissy.

“Thanks,” Nicole says, the word sticking in her throat. She feels Waverly’s eyes cut to her.

“You’re welcome,” Chrissy says brightly. She leans forward, trailing her fingers along her shin.

Nicole swallows heavily, her eyes following Chrissy’s hand as it moves back up her leg. She snaps her head up and gives Chrissy a hesitant smile.

“So, the lawn mowing business is working out?” Chrissy asks after a minute.

Nicole straightens up a little, pride swelling in her chest. It’s been a whole summer of mowing and hauling grass clippings and sitting on the curb with Waverly, splitting fluffernutter sandwiches and cans of soda, and she has a lot to show for it: her newfound muscles, a killer tan, and almost CA$4000 in her savings account at Purgatory Bank and Loan.

“Really good,” Waverly answers before Nicole can. She’s pulled her Wayfarers down on her nose and her eyes are soft as she looks at Nicole. “Like, _aces_.”

“Aces,” Nicole repeats, breathless, her eyes on Waverly’s mouth.

“Clutch,” Chrissy adds.

Nicole jumps a little at the sound of her voice. “Yeah. Mr. La Pierre asked me if I was extending services into the fall. Leaf pickup and stuff.”

“He did?” Waverly asks, frowning.

Nicole nods. “Last week, when you had that early shift at The Patch.”

Waverly’s frown deepens for a second. “You didn’t tell me.”

Nicole shrugs one shoulder. “I forgot. He said it really quickly. He might even be kidding.”

Waverly makes a face at her. “He probably isn’t.”

“Hopefully. Then I can make some extra money, you know?” She ducks her head a little to meet Waverly’s eyes. “Get that car like we talked about.”

“Oh!” Chrissy says excitedly. “You’re getting a car?”

Nicole winces a little. “Uh, yeah,” she says, scratching at the back of her neck. “I mean, that’s the plan.”

Chrissy sighs wistfully. “I want a car, like, _so bad_.” She leans forward a little more and Nicole’s eyes drop to her chest before they snap back up, looking over Chrissy’s shoulder instead. “What kind do you want to get?”

Nicole takes a slow, steady breath. “I’m not sure,” she says, trailing off. “A Bonneville,” she finally adds, eyes on Waverly.

Waverly gives her a soft smile. “That’s a good car.”

“That’s what someone told me,” Nicole says quietly.

“They must be smart.”

Nicole grins crookedly. “They are.”

There’s a long pause until Chrissy speaks. “Is that person Waverly?”

Nicole laughs uncomfortably, quickly stopping when she realizes Waverly isn’t laughing with her. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Yes.” Her stomach rumbles and she remembers she hasn’t eaten since breakfast. It must be loud, because when she looks up, Waverly is fighting a smile. “Oops.”

“How much do you want to get done before lunch?” Waverly asks.

Nicole looks at the McCreadys’ lawn and shrugs. “Half? Nathan got me a set of edging shears that I want to try out, so I’ve still got a lot to do today.”

“Not too much?” Waverly asks, her sunglasses still hanging off her nose. “We’re supposed to go see _Dirty Dancing_ tonight.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “How would I forget that? You’ve reminded me every day, six times a day, for the last few months.”

Waverly shrugs unapologetically. “You forgot to tell me about Mr. La Pierre and the leaves.”

Nicole frowns for a moment before she shakes her head and decides to let that go. Instead, she double-checks the gas cap and puts the can on the trailer, grabbing her Walkman and attaching it to the belt of her cargo shorts.

“What’re you listening to?” Chrissy asks, looking interested.

Nicole hesitates. It’s the mixtape she’s been working on this summer, but it’s still not entirely perfect. There’s something about telling Chrissy the truth, though, that makes Nicole’s stomach twist uncomfortably, so she fibs instead.

“Oh, I don’t have a tape in here yet,” she says.

Waverly’s arm shoots out. “Here. Listen to this one,” she says, holding a cassette case.

Nicole takes it out of Waverly’s hand, their fingers brushing. She feels a jolt of electricity shoot through her arm, into her shoulder and across her chest. “Don Henley?”

“It has ‘All She Wants to Do Is Dance’ on it,” Waverly explains.

Nicole turns over the cassette, scanning the tracklist. She didn’t realize “Boys of Summer” was on _Building The Perfect Beast_. She should put that one on her summer mixtape.

Nicole opens her Walkman, sliding her mixtape out and into one of the pockets of her cargo shorts. She pops in _Building The Perfect Beast_ , pulling her headphones up over her ears. She flashes Waverly a thumbs up, her smile slipping a little when Chrissy wiggles her fingers at her.

The music starts, a riff Nicole beats against the lawnmower as she reaches down to pull the starter. She looks up one more time, her eyes catching the hot pink toenail polish Waverly picked out last week. Her eyes trail up Waverly’s legs, tan and smooth and stretched out for days, before she lands on the blue and pink bathing suit bottom.

“ _Nobody on the road, nobody on the beach. I feel it in the air: the summer's out of reach. Empty lake, empty streets, the sun goes down alone. I'm driving by your house, don't know you're not home_ ,” Don Henley sings.

She pull the starter, bracing her feet on the ground to offset the way the Snapper roars to life, jerking under her hands. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her eyes and tucking any loose strands behind her ears.

“ _But I can see you,”_ she sings along, her voice buried in the hum of the Snapper. “ _Your bronze skin shining in the sun._ ”

Nicole fights a small grin as she notices Waverly’s eyes following her around the lawn. She doesn’t want to - she _can’t_ \- get her hopes up, but she’s noticed that almost every time she goes to look at Waverly, Waverly is already looking at her. She’s not sure what it means. She’s _sure_ it can’t mean what she wants it to mean, but she likes the attention. She likes the way Waverly’s eyes linger on her eyes and on her boots. She likes the way it takes Waverly a second to answer a question Nicole is sure she could answer in her sleep.

For a second, she thinks about all of the romance movies Waverly makes her watch, where a girl stares longingly at a guy across a classroom, tells her friends how much she likes him, and eventually kisses him even though a freshman showed him her underwear. _Maybe I mixed a few of those up_ , she thinks. _And there’s definitely no way Waverly would stare longingly at me_.

But the attention is nice, so Nicole tries to keep it.

She makes a big show of taking a slow turn around the lawn chairs, winking at Waverly as she mows around her.

_“You got your hair combed back, and your sunglasses on, baby,”_ Henley sings.

Chrissy sits up, leaning over to whisper something in Waverly’s ear. Nicole can’t hear it, but she can see the way Waverly’s nostrils flare a little, and the way her mouth turns down.

_“I can tell you my love for you will still be strong after the boys of summer have gone.”_

Waverly shifts in her lawn chair, and the light moves across the fabric of her bathing suit. Nicole feels herself pulled out of reality, dropped back into her head where she’s at Shorty’s and Waverly is made of neon and Journey is playing on the loudspeaker.

Champ wiggles his way into her dream and leans against the side of the rink, runs a hand through his hair, and nods at Waverly with a smug grin on his face.

Nicole scowls, pushing the mower a little harder than necessary, feeling the blade dig into the grass at a sharp angle.

“ _I never will forget those nights. I wonder if it was a-_ ”

Nicole sighs and lets go of the clutch lever, the Snapper coming to a stop. She presses the stop button on her Walkman, cutting Henley off in the middle of a sentence. She drops down to one knee as she loops her headphones around her neck, checking the damage. It’s not too deep of a hole that she’s made, so by the time the whole lawn is done, it probably won’t look too bad.

“What happened?” Waverly asks, leaning forward.

Nicole shrugs. “It’s no big. Don’t worry.” She smiles crookedly. “At least it’s not the flowers.”

Waverly grins back at her. “At least.”

Chrissy rolls over onto her stomach, kicking her feet up. She looks back over her shoulder. “Hey, Nicole?” she calls. “Can you untie my suit up top here?” She bites down on her bottom lip. “I can’t reach it.”

Waverly makes a noise in the back of her throat and turns on her bare heel, storming across the grass, up the steps, and into the house. The screen door slams shut behind her.

Chrissy looks at Nicole. “What’s her beef?” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll go check on her.”

“No,” Nicole says quickly. “I’ll do it, I mean,” she adds, her voice more controlled. She self-consciously  pulls at the hem of her Mötley Crüe 1983 World Tour shirt, smoothing out the permanent wrinkles as she climbs the front stairs. She takes her Timberland Crosscut Loggers off at the door, leaving them on the porch.

The house is dark, no lights on because Gus says she hates coming home to a hot house. It takes a minute for Nicole’s eyes to adjust, but she hears Waverly before she sees her. She follows the banging and crashing into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as she watches Waverly pull out the ingredients to make a fluffernutter sandwich.

Waverly slams the cutlery drawer, drops the marshmallow fluff onto the table with a loud bang, kicks the refrigerator shut, and tosses the bread down onto the table the way her mom tosses the water bill in the trash before she turns to look at Nicole.

“Hey,” Nicole says.

“ _Hey_ ?” Waverly asks. Her eyes are dark and stormy. In the overhead kitchen lighting, her _neon lights_ are muted, like someone pulled the plug on them.

Nicole leans back a little. “Uh, yeah?”

Waverly twists the top of the peanut butter jar too hard, the cap spinning out of her hand, across the counter, onto the floor, and skidding to a stop at Nicole’s feet. Nicole picks it up slowly, taking in the anger stretched tight across Waverly’s face.

“You okay?”

Waverly stabs her knife down into the peanut butter jar, angrily spreading a scoop of peanut butter across a piece of wheat bread.

“I guess that’s a no?”

Waverly rinses the knife and pops the top off the marshmallow fluff, stabbing and spreading on the second piece of bread.

“Well, if you’re not going to-”

‘Do you _like_ her?” Waverly asks abruptly.

Nicole frowns. “Who? Chrissy?”

Waverly crosses her arms over her chest, huffing. “No. Jennifer Grey.”

Nicole smiles crookedly. “Well, yeah, I like Jennifer Grey. Why do you think I’m letting you drag me to see _Dirty Dancing_?” She snorts. “It’s not for the way Patrick Swayze looks in a singlet.”

She frowns when Waverly doesn’t laugh like she thought she would.

“Yes, Chrissy,” Waverly says, her voice strained.

Nicole shrugs. “Don’t you? She’s _your_ best friend.”

“ _Nicole_ ,” Waverly hisses. “Don’t be a square.”

Nicole laughs a little. “You need to cool down.”

Waverly freezes, putting her knife down slowly. “You know what?” she asks, turning to face Nicole. “You need to stop talking to me. I’m done talking to you.” She slaps the two pieces of bread together and drops it, uncut on the table in front of Nicole.

Nicole picks it up slowly, realizing that she’s missing something important that Waverly isn’t saying out loud. “Okay,” she tries again. “Just tell me what I did, okay?” She steps closer, reaching out to try and brush her hand against Waverly’s arm.

Waverly pulls her arm away, holding it against her body.

“Waves,” Nicole sighs.

Waverly just glares at her.

“For serious?” Nicole asks, a hand on her hip. “You’re not even going to talk to me?”

Waverly glares at her, her mouth pinched together. She lifts her eyebrows, daring Nicole to say something to her.

Nicole scoffs, clutching her sandwich in her other hand. “ _Fine_ . But for the record, you’re being a real _putt_ right now.”

She swears she hears “ _you’re a putt_ ” from somewhere behind her, but she doesn’t turn around to find out. She pushes the screen door a little harder than she needs to, wincing when it slams against the side of the house. She forces her feet into her Loggers without bothering to loosen the laces, and it takes a minute for her feet to fit inside of them. She stomps down the steps, leaving grass prints where her boots hit the wood.

“What’s the drama-o-rama?” Chrissy asks, holding Nicole’s Orange Crush. She looks down when she realizes Nicole is looking at the soda. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I got thirsty. But not enough to open a whole can.”

Nicole looks up as Waverly pads softly down the steps, sunglasses back on her face.

“No, I don’t mind,” she says, eyes still on Waverly. She looks back at Chrissy. “Drink as much as you want to.”

“Of course,” Waverly scoffs, under her breath.

Chrissy smiles wide, either ignoring the open hostility from Waverly, or unaware of it. She takes a long sip of the soda. Nicole watches the way her throat works as she swallows before she looks back at Waverly.

Waverly is glaring at her. “Don’t you have a lawn to finish?”

Nicole frowns. Waverly is _angry_ \- really and honestly angry. Nicole can’t figure out why, but it makes her stomach start to hurt like she’s had too many cups of hot chocolate. She opens her mouth to say something, but Waverly turns too quickly, and marches back inside the house, taking her _neon lights_ with her.

Nicole is sure the sun can’t actually dim in the middle of the day, but as the screen door swings shut behind her, Nicole is positive the light fades around her.

“ _Dream,_ ” Henley picks up as Nicole turns on her Walkman. “ _Remember how you made me crazy? Remember how I made you scream?”_

She marches up and down the lawn without much thought, turning when she’s supposed to turn and avoiding the flowers she’s supposed to avoid. She’s thinking about Waverly; about the way the corners of her lips were turned down in a way that makes Nicole stomach clench; about the way her eyes were hard like they used to be when Nicole first met her and Waverly didn’t trust anybody; about her hands and how she pulled them out of Nicole’s reach.

“ _I don't understand what happened to our love_.”

Nicole bites down on her bottom lip. She needs to talk to Waverly, she decides. She needs to talk to her as soon as this lawn is done.

_“But, baby, I'm gonna get you back, I'm gonna show you what I'm made of.”_

She’s not going to see _Dirty Dancing_ with a girl who won’t even _look_ at her.

Chrissy waves at her from the porch. Nicole stops the mower, dropping her headphones down around her neck.

"Waverly sent me out with this,” Chrissy says, coming down the steps. She’s holding a fluffernutter sandwich. “I’m not sure why she made me do it,” Chrissy continues. “When she’s watching from the front door.”

Nicole frowns and looks over Chrissy’s shoulder. Waverly ducks out of sight.

“What’s her damage?”

Nicole sighs. “I have no idea.”

Chrissy hums. “Usually you’re the only one who does.”

Nicole isn’t sure that _Waverly_ even knows what’s going on, but it bothers her that she can’t figure it out.

Chrissy reaches out slowly, picking at Nicole’s cutoff. “This is a pretty grody shirt.”

Nicole rolls her eyes and swats Chrissy’s hand away. “Knock it off.”

Chrissy smoothes her hand across Nicole’s shoulder. “Listen, I have a proposition for you.”

Nicole leans back against the mower, crossing one ankle over the other. “Oh, yeah?” she asks nervously.

Chrissy laughs. “Don’t get all bunched up, stud.” She walks her fingers off Nicole’s shoulder. “My dad drove by the Gagnons’ lawn this week and said it was some of the best ‘close-cropping’ he’s seen since _he_ mowed lawns.”

Nicole tips her head to the side, confused. “Okay,” she says slowly.

“The summer is nearly over, but he wants you to mow his lawn next summer.” Chrissy grins at her, tapping a single finger against her nose. “So what do you say?”

Nicole straightens up, catching Chrissy’s hand in her own, squeezing tightly to stop Chrissy from touching her. “Seriously?”

“For serious.” Chrissy gives her a reassuring smile. “He’s super impressed with your lawn mowing skills. _And_ ,” Chrissy drags out, suddenly looking nervous.

Nicole chews on her bottom lip. “And what?”

Chrissy kicks her bare foot through the loose grass. “Well, Waverly told me you wanted to be a cop someday.”

Nicole feels her face flush. “Oh,” she breathes out.

Chrissy turns her hand over in Nicole’s. “Don’t be embarrassed. You know, Linda Doucette is the only female officer on the whole force. I think that should change, obviously. Women are so much more level-headed than men. I read that in-”

“I know,” Nicole interrupts. “Waverly made me read that one, too.”

Chrissy smiles brightly. “So, she told me what you wanted, and I mentioned it to my dad, and-”

Nicole inhales sharply. “You told _Sheriff Nedley_?”

Chrissy rolls her eyes. “He’s not a superhero or anything.”

Nicole pulls her hand out of Chrissy, holding it against her chest. “Sheriff Nedley brought vandalism down by 63% in the last ten years. He solved the coldest case in Purgatory history!”

“Who drank the coffee and didn’t make a new pot?” Chrissy asks, her voice flat.

Nicole swats at Chrissy’s shoulder. “ _No_. Who stole the original chicken from outside of the Farm Boy!”

Chrissy huffs, fighting a smile. “You know, someone tried to take off with the replacement this past February?”

“I bet Sheriff Nedley knows who it was.”

“Only because he’s at the Farm Boy so much, filling his pork rinds stash.”

Nicole shrugs. “He’s still a genius. How else would anyone know that the Jungers had the original chicken stashed in their shed for nearly four decades? Did you know that Carl’s great-great-grandfather stole it when the Farm Boy was a Safeway?”

“I did,” Chrissy says slowly. “My dad already told me this story.”

“Oh,” Nicole says, feeling foolish. “Sorry. I just remember him telling someone at The Patch once.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes, but smiles a little. “Anyway, I talked to my dad, and like, he totally can’t give you a real job at the station, because you’re not a cop yet.”

Nicole feels her face flush at the word ‘yet,’ and the way it sounds like ‘almost.’

“But he did say he needs some help cleaning at night. After school, really. If you’re interested.”

Nicole looks at Chrissy, her mouth hanging open. “You mean, I’d get to work at the station? Where the _Sheriff_ works?”

“God, he’s not like Rob Lowe.” She shudders. “It’s so gross when you say his name like that.”

“Yes!” Nicole shouts. She looks around, embarrassed. “I mean, yeah. That’d be cool. I’m a good… sweeper,” she finishes, pointedly not looking at the smirk on Chrissy’s face. “Wait,” she says, fishing into the back pocket of her cargo shorts. She takes out her wallet, thumbing through it for the business cards Waverly made her. “Here,” she says, handing it to Chrissy. “Waverly made them for me.”

Chrissy looks it over, grinning up at Nicole. “They’re bitchin’, all right.”

Nicole smiles widely. “She came up with the logo, too,” she says, pointing at the words “ _Haught Cutz Lawn Service’_ ’ embossed in bright colors on the front. Waverly had spent her tips at Baker’s Office Supplies, just to make a small handful of them.

Chrissy holds it up in front of her face, making a show of tucking it into the waistband of her bathing suit. Nicole follows the motion with her eyes, her throat dry for a reason she can’t quite explain.

The screen door slams, and Nicole looks up to see Waverly standing on the porch, her hands in fists at her sides, and the muscles in her jaw are tense. She opens her mouth to say something and then snaps it shut, pulling the screen door open and storming back into the house.

“Seriously,” Chrissy says. “What’s her deal? Does she have a stick up her-”

Nicole hands Chrissy her fluffernutter, interrupting her. “I’ll be right back,” she says, taking the steps two at a time.

Behind her, she can hear Chrissy sigh. “I don’t even like marshmallow fluff.”

Nicole follows Waverly into the house, nearly running her over in the front hallway.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Waverly spits.

Nicole frowns. “Interrupt what?”

“Whatever that was,” Waverly says, waving her hand towards the front lawn. “Between you and Chrissy.”

“Oh!” Nicole smiles. _Waverly misunderstood_ , she thinks to herself. She laughs a little. “No, listen. Chrissy was telling me-”

“How _clutch_ you look in that shirt?” Waverly crosses her arms over her chest. “How _bitchin’_ you look in those boots? How you’re tan and muscled and look like one of those girls from the car magazines?”

Nicole tips her head to the side. “I do?”

Waverly glares.

“Okay,” Nicole says slowly. “You’re kind of being a spaz right now.”

Waverly opens her mouth to argue, but she closes it slowly, inhaling deeply through her nose. “You really don’t see that she’s flirting with you?”

Nicole frowns. “What?”

“Chrissy,” Waverly says. “She’s _flirting_ with you.”

Nicole laughs. “No, she’s not.” Her laughter dies off when she realizes Waverly isn’t laughing with her. “Wait. She’s not.”

Waverly crosses her arms over her chest and looks away. “That’s what it looks like to me.”

“That’s not what I’m seeing,” Nicole says.

“Of _course_ you don’t see it. You _never_ do.”

Nicole crosses her arms over her chest, mirroring Waverly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Waverly sighs, her shoulders slumping. “Nothing,” she mutters. “Do you like her?” she asks again.

“I already answered this,” Nicole sighs. “I don’t understand why-”

Waverly stomps her foot a little, blowing her hair out of her face. For a moment, she looks seven again, trying to get Tucker Gardner to stop picking on her. “I mean,” she drags out. “Do you _like_ like her?”

Nicole frowns again. “Like… the way Doc likes Wynonna?”

“The way you liked Shae.”

Nicole flinches a little, immediately picking at her thumbnail.

Waverly takes a step back, her eyes widening. “You do.”

Nicole steps forward. “I don’t.”

“I don’t care if you do,” Waverly says.

Nicole scoffs. “Sure you don’t.”

Waverly glares at her.

“Seriously,” Nicole sighs. “What is your deal?”

“Nothing,” Waverly says unconvincingly. “I just didn’t realize you _liked_ Chrissy like that.”

“I don’t,” Nicole says.

Waverly snorts. “Tell that to your eyes. They’ve been on her all day.” She looks at Nicole, eyes narrowed.

_I was looking at you,_ Nicole wants to say. Every part of her wants to scream it. This is her moment. She’s Jake Ryan, sitting on a red 1983 Porsche 944. She just needs to stand up off that car and wave her hand and tell Waverly, _it’s you. It’s always been you_.

She wants to tell Waverly about the Valentine’s Day dance. She wants to tell Waverly about standing in this very hallway, with Curtis’s hand on her shoulder. She wants to tell Waverly that there’s a feeling in her stomach that never goes away, and at night she listens to the kind of songs Nathan makes fun of; the kind that says everything Nicole isn’t sure _how_ to say.

But she can’t get the words to unstick from her throat. Instead, she sighs and runs her hand through her hair. She picks at her thumb again, the initial sting fading into a deep ache that feels familiar. She picks a little harder, but then Waverly’s hand is covering her own.

“I thought I told you to stop doing that?” she says kindly. She smoothes her hand across Nicole’s, loosening Nicole’s fingers.

Nicole shrugs.

Waverly sighs loudly, her fingernails scratching against Nicole’s palm. “She’s flirting with you.”

“I don’t like her,” Nicole says firmly. “She’s my friend. But she’s not-”

_Not you_ , she thinks.

“Really?” Waverly asks.

“Really,” Nicole promises.

Waverly stares at her for a moment and then sighs. “Sorry,” she mutters.

Nicole tips her head to the side. “Just like that?"

Waverly shrugs. “I can stand on the lawn with a big ‘I’m Sorry’ sign if you want.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Nicole tugs at Waverly’s hand. “I don’t know what’s up with you today, but-”

“But I was wrong,” Waverly interrupts. “I was kind of a hoser, actually.”

“Kind of,” Nicole repeats.

Waverly glares a little. “I’m apologizing, here.”

Nicole steps back, throwing her arms out wide. “By all means.”

“Maybe I’ll make you a mixtape,” Waverly offers.

Nicole’s heart clenches. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she mumbles.

Waverly grabs Nicole’s hand again, holding it close to her chest. “I’m sorry I’m the world’s biggest noid.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Canada’s, at least.”

Waverly shoves her lightly.

Nicole pulls Waverly in, wrapping her arm around her neck and kissing the top of her head. She can feel Waverly pressed against her, her hand resting on Nicole’s hip, her sunwarm skin against her bare arms. Waverly is stiff against her for a moment before her body relaxes and her fingers curl around the curve of Nicole’s hip. Waverly sighs, tucking her head into Nicole’s shoulder.

“I really am sorry.”

_For what_? Nicole wants to ask. Instead, she takes a deep breath and squeezes Waverly’s shoulder and says, “Okay.”

Waverly untangles from her side, holding out a hand. “Come on. Before Chrissy drinks all of your Orange Crush.”

_You mean, you don’t have one_ , Chrissy’s voice echoes in her mind.

Nicole flushes, letting go of Waverly’s hand just as they reach the front door. Waverly tenses for a second, but Nicole smiles and pulls her headphones back over her ears instead.

Waverly walks down the stairs in front of her, her bathing suit catching the sunlight and holding it, lighting up the corners of the front porch like neon.

Nicole smiles sheepishly at Chrissy, heading back to her lawnmower, still sitting in the middle of the lawn. Waverly sits down next to Chrissy, leaning over to say something into her ear as Nicole grabs the starter in one hand. She hits play on her Walkman.

“ _I can see you: your bronze skin shining in the sun. You got that hair slicked back, and those Wayfarers on, baby_ ,” Henley continues. “ _And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong, after the boys of summer have gone_.”


End file.
